











































































































































































































































































































































































































































































OK, TXt 

Book_. -3 'C . 

&pyiigM“ Jk^__ 

'Qjo pM 

COFERIGHT DEPOSm 

























JACKSON 

OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


By EARL REED SILVERS 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 
DICK ARNOLD PLAYS THE GAME 
DICK ARNOLD OF THE VARSITY 
NED BEALS, FRESHMAN 
AT HILLSDALE HIGH 
NED BEALS WORKS HIS WAY 
JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 



































TONY WAS SETTING AN UNUSUALLY FAST PACE 


[page 112] 







JACKSON 

OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


BY 

EARL REED §ILVERS / 

AUTHOR OF “AT HILLSDALE HIGH,” “NED BEALS WORKS HIS WAY,” 
“DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN- COLLEGE,” ETC. 




D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

NEW YORK :: 1923 :: LONDON 


?Zi 

,SsV1 


COPYRIGHT, 1923 , BY 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



I! 


■r'VT 


©C1A759335 ^ 




TO 

HOMER L. SHEFFER 
AND 

HAROLD W. SCHENCK 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Rescue. 1 

II. Stretch Grows Resentful.12 

III. The Silver Cup.29 

IV. Baseball. 41 

V. And Tennis.53 

VI. Over the Cliff.68 

VII. Stretch Makes a Decision.83 

VIII. The Last Event.94 

IX. The Winner. 106 

X. Rewards.. . 117 

XI. Back at School. 129 

XII. “To-morrow by To-day”.141 

XIII. The Honor System. 152 

XIV. Smoking. 168 

XV. A Question of Honor. 183 

XVI. Playing the Game.196 

XVII. Spirit. 208 

XVIII. In the Face of Odds. 225 

XIX. Joe’s To-morrow. 237 



















JACKSON 

OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


CHAPTER I 
THE RESCUE 

W E call it Sunrise Camp,” the older man 
explained, “because, from our location 
on the hill, we can see the sun come up 
over King Mountain every morning.” 

The eyes of the three boys lighted eagerly, and 
Ward Jackson grinned. 

“You don’t mean to say, do you,” he demanded, 
“that we have to get up as early as that?” 

“Not unless you want to. The bugle sounds at 
seven o’clock.” 

“How about the guy who blows the bugle?” Ward 
asked. 

“He’s out of luck,” Stretch Magens put in. 

They relapsed into momentary silence, while the 
big river steamer, its giant engines throbbing, sailed 

majestically on between shaded banks. 

1 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 

“Gee!” Ward said, and stretched his legs luxuri¬ 
ously. “This is great.” 

Mr. Frank Merritt, teacher of English in the Hills¬ 
dale High School, and Coach of the track and football 
teams, smiled indulgently. The four of them were 
seated comfortably on the rear deck of one of the 
boats of the Hudson River Night Line; it was still 
early evening, and the golden sun enveloped them in 
its mellow rays. Mr. Merritt, a sense of deep peace 
encompassing him, regarded the three boys thought¬ 
fully. 

He had known them now for more than six months. 
Himself a Princeton graduate, a wounded veteran of 
the A. E. F., he had accepted the position at Llillsdale 
because it offered a chance to get back to work again 
after three years of the monotony of convalescence. 
Now, practically restored to normal strength, he was 
on his way to Sunrise Camp as an associate director. 
And because they worshiped the ground he walked 
on, the three boys had decided to spend the summer 
with him in the rugged grandeur of the New Hamp¬ 
shire hills. 

He had little doubt of their ability to look out for 
themselves in a new and strange environment. Ward 
Jackson, stocky, sturdy, with light blue eyes and 
blond hair which refused to stay plastered down, was 
a natural leader. In spite of his irregular features 
and his stubby nose, there was something attractive 
about him, something magnetic. He was an out- 

2 


THE RESCUE 


spoken chap, honest to the core, a plugger who did 
not know what it was to quit—and how he could fight! 
Ward was destined some day to be a substantial citi¬ 
zen, an advocate of honesty in politics and a square 
deal for every man. Endowed with no special bril¬ 
liance, he was, nevertheless, a clear thinker; and when 
he started a thing, he always finished it. A fighter who 
kept everlastingly at whatever he undertook to do! 

Bill Barrett, his chum and inseparable companion, 
was built along somewhat different lines. Bill was 
good looking, with curly brown hair, a well-knit 
frame, and muscles that glided smoothly beneath taut 
skin. He had never yet had occasion to feel fear; 
and now he looked forward to his camp experiences 
eager and unafraid. Bill, the older man reflected, 
had in him the makings of a real man. 

But of Stretch Magens he was not quite so sure. 
Stretch was a big boy; tall, broad of shoulder, and 
graceful. Whatever he did, he did well, with the ease 
and apparent lack of effort which characterized the 
natural athlete. But at school during the past year he 
had been something of a disturbing element: resentful 
of criticism, insistent upon what he chose to call his 
“rights,” jealous of his athletic prestige. He was 
aggressive, just a bit pugnacious, and inclined to 
antagonize those who did not always agree with him. 
But he was a good fellow at heart, and he had learned 
during the past few months how “to take his coach¬ 
ing.” 


3 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“It will be a good thing for Stretch to get up to 
camp,” Mr. Merritt told himself. “What he needs 
more than anything else is a broader contact with 
other boys.” 

Nevertheless, the older man was slightly dubious 
of Stretch’s success at camp. If some one 
“started something,” there was no telling what might 
happen. 

Ward Jackson, his eyes on the towering profile of 
Storm King Mountain, turned eagerly. 

“Are—are there any hills like that up at camp?” 
he asked. 

“Plenty of them,” Mr. Merritt answered. 

“Tell us about it,” Stretch suggested. 

The older man smiled at their eagerness. 

“The camp,” he explained, “is located on the shore 
of Indian Lake, four miles from the village of Woof- 
ville, and three miles from the Canadian border.” 

Ward grinned irrepressibly. 

“I suppose they call it Woofville,” he suggested, 
“because old man Woof founded it back in the Middle 
Ages.” 

“Shut up!” Bill Barrett told him pleasantly. 
“You’re rocking the boat.” 

“There will be about a hundred fellows,” Mr. Mer¬ 
ritt continued. “On the hillside above the lake, is a 
circle of tents, five men to a tent. Then there’s the 

big mess hall, the directors’ quarters, and another 

4 



THE RESCUE 


frame building which we use for a good many things 
when it happens to rain.” 

“The three of us will live together, won’t we?” 
Stretch asked. 

“Yes, but there’ll be two other fellows with you, of 
course.” 

“I’d rather be alone,” Stretch contended, with just 
a trace of sullenness. “You can’t tell who we might 
get in with.” 

Mr. Merritt’s eyes clouded. 

“They’re all good boys, Stretch,” he declared 
quietly. 

“I suppose so!” 

“What do we do with ourselves all the time?” 
Ward asked. 

“Almost anything you want to. There’s a swim 
every morning before breakfast, and after that, tennis, 
baseball, boating, exploring trips, and a hundred and 
one other things.” 

“It’s going to be great,” Bill said. 

“How about eats?” 

“Let’s wait a while.” 

Ward, tipping his chair against the cabin, swung 
his legs happily and gave way to pleasant reflection. 
At the very stern of the boat, his roving eyes discov¬ 
ered another boy, a dark-skinned chap with a soft 
straw hat pulled down far over his forehead and 

clothes which did not entirely fit. 

5 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“A Wop,” Ward thought. “I wonder where he’s 
going, anyhow.” 

He watched curiously while the other boy, his 
hands thrust into his trousers’ pockets, gazed curi¬ 
ously at the passing landscape. After a time, Ward 
turned to Bill Barrett. 

“That fellow down there looks rather lonesome,” 
he said. “Why not ask him to come over with us?” 

But Stretch Magens shook his head. 

“He’s a roughneck,” he answered. “And what is 
it to us whether he’s lonesome or not?” 

“Nothing, I suppose,” Ward answered. 

But somehow he could not keep his eyes away from 
the boy at the stern. The stranger, apparently tiring 
of doing nothing, rose to his feet finally, and leaned 
far over the railing. The steamer’s propeller, whirl¬ 
ing noisily, churned the water into seething foam 
which swept like a live thing in the wake of the speed¬ 
ing boat. Possibly in an effort to glimpse one of the 
massive blades, the boy whom Ward was watching 
stretched his neck curiously and leaned farther out. 
And then, so quickly that Ward hardly realized what 
had happened, he unexpectedly lost his balance, 
grasped desperately at the rail, and with a shrill cry 
of fear, tumbled overboard. 

For an instant not a sound disturbed the dull throb¬ 
bing of the engine, and then from somewhere on the 
top deck a woman’s voice screamed: 

“Help! help! Some one’s fallen in the water!” 

6 


THE RESCUE 


“It’s the fellow there in the stern,” Ward rasped, 
and leaped forward. 

He could see, in the churning water beneath him, 
the figure of the dark-skinned boy. His hat was gone 
and his arms were flailing wildly; and even as Ward 
looked, he turned glazed eyes upward. 

“Help!” he called chokingly. “Help!” 

“He can’t swim,” some one said. 

Impulsively, acting purely on instinct, Ward Jack- 
son slipped his arms free from his Norfolk coat, and 
turned shining eyes toyard the two boys beside 
him. 

“I’m going!” he snapped. “Heads up, fellows!” 

As he balanced himself momentarily on the railing, 
a deep gong sounded somewhere from the bowels of 
the ship. A hoarse voice cried out warningly: 

“Man overboard!” 

And then Ward dove, springing far out from the 
gleaming sides of the steamer. He struck the water 
cleanly, arched his hack, and came to the surface 
quickly. Twenty yards away, a dark figure struggled 
desperately in the foaming water. With short, pow¬ 
erful strokes, Ward fairly lifted himself in that 
direction. 

“Hold up!” he called huskily. “I’m coming.” 

Dimly, from somewhere far behind him, he was 
conscious of the sounding of another gong. 

“They’re stopping the boat,” he thought. “I—•” 
His glaring eyes strained forward, opened wide in 

7 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


sudden horror. For the boy who had fallen over¬ 
board was no longer in sight. 

With lips shut grimly, Ward fought his way for¬ 
ward. 

“He can’t drown!” he muttered sobbingly. “He 
mustn’t drown!” 

After a moment, he saw the figure again; glimpsed 
vaguely a white face lined in agony, the flashing of 
flailing arms. 

“Hold up!” he cried. “I’ve almost got you.” 

Burying his face in the water, he swam as he never 
had swum before; but when he looked up again, 
there was nothing to be seen. And then, hardly ten 
feet away from him, the figure came to the surface 
again; but now the boy’s eyes were closed and he had 
ceased struggling. Slowly, surely, as if in deliberate 
mockery, he began to sink. 

Ward, in a last desperate effort at rescue, churned 
through the ruffled water, reached out, and seized with 
gripping fingers something soft and yielding. It was 
the coat of the dark-skinned boy who had fallen 
overboard. 

With infinite care, Ward turned him so as to sup¬ 
port his unconscious form more easily. 

“You’re all right now,” he said soothingly. 

But only a sob, a sob of infinite weariness, an¬ 
swered him. 

“At least,” Ward thought, “he’s alive.” 

His own muscles were aching from the strain of 

8 


THE RESCUE 


his recent efforts, his breath came in short, painful 
gasps, and his legs were heavy as lead. His shoes 
hindered him; they seemed like weights of iron drag¬ 
ging him down. 

“Help!” he called. “Help!” 

He noticed, hardly ten feet away, a life-preserver 
floating lightly on the current. But it was to one side 
of him, and he could not reach it with the unconscious 
form of the other boy on his arm. He found himself 
wondering, with a quick intake of breath, how long 
he could hold out. 

Then, suddenly, he was conscious of a rattle of 
oarlocks, and, turning his head, he discovered a small 
boat coming toward him. It was from the steamer, 
of course, but he had not imagined that they could 
launch it so quickly. But the sight of it gave him 
renewed courage, banished his apprehension. He 
continued to kick desperately with his feet, shifted 
his burden from one arm to the other, and paddled 
painfully with the free hand. But the ache in his 
limbs increased, threatening to drag him down. 

“Hurry!” he choked. 

Unexpectedly, his face slipped beneath the surface. 
Gasping, he fought upward, glimpsed the blue of the 
sky again. And then, a quiet voice sounded from 
directly over him: 

“All right, we’ve got you now.” 

He relaxed relievedly, permitting himself to be 

lifted aboard the boat and sinking down wearily in 

9 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


its ribbed bottom. He did not look up until they had 
reached the steamer; then, suddenly, he was aware 
of hundreds of curious faces looming above him. 
Some one started to cheer, and the sound of their 
voices drowned out the renewed throb of the engines. 
Vaguely happy, Ward turned to one of the men in 
the boat. 

“I don’t want to meet that crowd,” he said. “Take 
me somewhere away from them, will you?” 

The man grinned. 

“You can go to the engine room,” he answered, 
“and get warm.” 

After a time, when they had taken the unconscious 
boy to the captain’s quarters, Ward removed his 
water-soaked shoes and looked up as footsteps 
sounded in the corridor. The door opened, and two 
boys entered, followed by Mr. Merritt. 

“Hello!” Ward said. 

Bill Barrett grinned into his lowered eyes. 

“You’re a blooming hero,” he announced. “The 
whole boat’s yelling for a sight of you.” 

Ward grimaced. 

“It wasn’t anything. I just happened to see the guy 
first. I—I—how is he, anyhow?” 

“You mean the Wop?” It was Stretch Magens 
speaking. “He’ll be as good as ever in a couple of 
hours, the boat doctor says. Hit the lower deck when 
he fell and had the breath knocked out of him. But 
there’s no bones broken or anything like that.” 

10 


THE RESCUE 


Ward smiled happily. 

“Gee, that’s fine!” 

“He’s conscious now,” Stretch continued, “and 
when you feel like coming, he wants to see you.” 

“Can’t you just tell him it’s all right,” Ward pro¬ 
tested. “I hate this thank-you stuff.” 

But Mr. Merritt shook his head. 

“It’s up to you, Ward,” he announced quietly, “to 
give him a chance to express his gratitude.” 

“I suppose so!” Ward spoke reluctantly. “But I 
sure do hate to do it. Probably we’ll never see each 
other again.” 

“You can’t be too sure about that,” Bill Barrett 
put in. “We’ve learned something about him, and 
he’s on his way to the Pinetree Camp.” 

“Where’s that?” Ward asked. 

“On Indian Lake,” Mr. Merritt told him. “And 
Pinetree is Sunrise’s closest and most hitter rival.” 


CHAPTER II 

STRETCH GROWS RESENTFUL 


L ATER in the evening, when Ward Jackson en- 
. tered the dining room of the steamer, people 
looked up at him curiously and smiled into 
his embarrassed eyes. Stretch Magens, nudging his 
aching ribs, grinned provokingly. 

“The band will now play ‘Hail, the Conquering 
Hero Comes,’ ” he said. “What’s the matter with 
those fellows, anyhow?” 

“Cut it out,” Ward pleaded. His eager eyes 
searched the menu ravenously. “How about a big 
juicy steak,” he suggested, “some French fried pota¬ 
toes, ice cream and apple pie?” 

“Right-o!” Stretch answered. “Only I think I’ll 
have a plate of soup, too.” 

When eventually the food was placed before them, 
they wasted little time in conversation. They were 
hungry, and the business of eating was a serious 
matter. Ward, forgetting the impending interview 
with the dark-skinned boy whose life he had saved, 
cleared the last vestige of pie a la mode from his plate 
and leaned back comfortably. 

“How about some more dessert?” Bill Barrett 
asked hopefully. 


12 


STRETCH GROWS RESENTFUL 


But Mr. Merritt shook his head. 

“I don’t want any sick boys on my hands,” he 
declared. “You fellows have eaten enough now to 
feed any army.” 

The others agreed reluctantly, stuffed their hands 
into their trousers’ pockets, and beckoned importantly 
to the waiter. 

“How much do we owe you?” Bill asked. 

With assumed indifference, the white-shirted negro 
placed the written record of their indebtedness before 
them. 

“Whew!” Stretch groaned. “He must think we’re 
trying to buy the boat.” 

“The prices are right there on the menu,” Mr. 
Merritt reminded them. “Fork up, you fellows, and 
a quarter tip from each of you.” 

They made change finally, accepted the mumbled 
thanks of the beaming waiter, and shuffled to their 
feet. Ward, with characteristic decision, shut his lips 
resolutely. 

“Might as well go see the—that other fellow now,” 
he said. “But I’d like to have you men go along 
with me.” 

“We’ll back you up,” Bill promised. “Come on 
and let’s get it over with.” 

“He’s a millionaire in disguise, or something like 
that,” Stretch declared. “He’s got a terribly sporty 
room off the main salon—a bridal suite, I think they 
call it.” 


13 



JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


They found the dark-skinned boy propped up in 
bed, with one of the ship’s minor officers reading 
beneath a shaded lamp in one corner. Ward, enter¬ 
ing awkwardly, grinned embarrassedly. 

“Glad to see you’re coming along all right,” he 
said. 

The other boy glanced up eagerly, his big black 
eyes glowing. 

“I—I am under deep obligation to you,” he an¬ 
nounced slowly, picking his words carefully and 
speaking haltingly, as if he was not quite sure of 
himself. “If it had not been for you, I would have— 
have been dead.” 

“It wasn’t as bad as that,” Ward hastened to assure 
him. “You can swim, can’t you?” 

“Oh, yes, I—I am a strong swimmer. But when 
I fall, I strike my chest against the lower deck and 
it take my breath away. I—I do not remember much 
after that.” 

There was a moment of awkward silence, while 
Ward shifted his feet restlessly and tried to think of 
something to say. 

“The doctor tells us that you will be as well as ever 
in the morning,” Mr. Merritt put in. “You’re on the 
way to Pinetree Camp, aren’t you?” 

“Yes.” The boy’s eyes were somber. “My name,” 
he announced, “is Antonio Cuppola.” 

“And these fellows are Ward Jackson, Bill Barrett, 

14 



STRETCH GROWS RESENTFUL 


and Stretch Magens. I hope you will all be the best 
of friends.” 

“With Mr. Jackson,” Tony answered quietly, “I 
will always be friends.” 

“We’ll see a lot of you this summer, I hope.” 

“Yes.” The other boy’s face clouded momentarily. 
“In a way,” he said, “we will be what you call rivals. 
My camp and your camp are not friendly. But we 
can be friends also, can we not?” 

“Sure we can,” Ward answered. His glance wan¬ 
dered toward the door. “Guess we’ll be going,” he 
suggested, “so that you can get some sleep.” 

Nodding, the visitors turned, but Antonio Cuppola 
held up a restraining hand. 

“Mr. Jackson,” he began. 

“My name’s Ward,” Ward told him. 

“Mr. Ward, I—I am never unmindful of what you 
have done for me. And if I can ever pay back, I 
want you to know that you can count on me. It isn’t 
much, but—but will you shake my hand?” 

“Sure!” 

Their grips met; and as Ward looked down at the 
boy before him, he saw in his shining eyes loyalty, 
and sincerity, and unquestioned friendship. 

“It really wasn’t anything,” Ward told him. “Let’s 
forget it.” 

But Tony shook his head gravely. 

“I will never forget,” he answered. 

15 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 

Once outside the room, Stretch Magens turned to 
his companions and grinned amusedly. 

“The Wop talks like an English professor,” he 
announced. 

But Ward did not smile. 

“Tony’s all right,” he said quietly. 

“But he’s a Wop, just the same.” 

“What difference does that make?” 

Stretch’s eyes shifted before Ward’s challenging 
gaze. 

“Nothing, I suppose,” he admitted. “Only, I—I 
haven’t got much use for these foreigners.” 

“A man’s a man, whether he is an American or a 
South Sea Islander,” Mr. Merritt put in. “How 
about bed, you fellows?” 

“Let’s wait a while,” Stretch protested. 

“But Ward’s probably tired.” 

“Oh, all right.” 

But after he was settled in a lower bunk in tne room 
which he shared with Bill Barrett, Ward found it 
hard to get to sleep. He was physically weary and 
the muscles of his back ached dully, but his mind 
was active. He wondered vaguely if he would ever 
see Tony again, and marveled a bit at his own cour¬ 
age in diving into the seething water of the river. 
But he told himself stanchly that really he hadn’t done 
anything unusual; Stretch Magens, who was a good 
swimmer, would have done the same thing, if—if he 

had thought about it. It was luck, more than any- 

16 


STRETCH GROWS RESENTFUL 


thing else, which had enabled him to save Tony. The 
best thing to do, he decided just before he drifted 
into unconsciousness, was to forget all about it. Tony, 
of course, would find no way of paying back. Of 
course not. . . . 

The steamer had already docked at Albany 
when they awoke. Mr. Merritt, who had been up 
for almost an hour, grinned into their sleepy 
eyes. 

“The train for Indian Lake leaves at eight-thirty,” 
he announced. “That will give us just time enough 
to have breakfast on shore and get down to the 
station.” 

“Will any of the other fellows be on the train?” 
Bill asked. 

“Some of them. But the majority are going by the 
way of Boston.” 

“Seen Tony yet?” 

“Yes, he’s all right. And he’s going to have break- 
iast with us.” 

Stretch Magens frowned. 

“The next thing we know, he’ll be moving over to 
our camp.” 

“He can’t do that. He’s signed up for Pinetree.” 

“Let’s get going!” 

They found Tony waiting for them at the dock, 
apparently completely recovered from his unpleasant 
experience of the night before. He greeted them 

with a shy friendliness which went straight to Ward 

17 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


Jackson’s heart; but Stretch only nodded indifferently 
and turned to the others. 

“Where do we eat?” 

“How about the station?” 

“Costs too much,” Bill put in. “Another meal like 
supper yesterday, and I’d be stone broke.” 

“I would be much honored,” Tony Cuppola an¬ 
nounced, “if you will let me be your host for break¬ 
fast.” 

“Oh, I say!” Ward protested. Tony didn’t look 
as if he had very much money to spend on such 
entertainment. 

“We haven’t much time,” Bill Barrett said. “Let’s 
find a lunch room somewhere.” 

“Why not the station?” Tony argued. “And I 
would be honored.” 

“Couldn’t think of it,” Stretch snapped. 

But, unexpectedly, Mr. Merritt accepted for all of 
them. 

“We’ll be glad to be your guests, Tony,” he an¬ 
nounced quietly. “And it is good of you to ask us.” 

The eyes of the Italian boy lighted in quick grati¬ 
tude. 

“Thank you!” 

He led the way across the cobbled street to the glit¬ 
tering restaurant of the neighboring station, proudly 
took his place at the head of a table for five, and 
summoned a hovering waiter. 

“What will you have?” he asked politely. 

1 O 

1.0 


STRETCH GROWS RESENTFUL 


Stretch Magens sneered in sudden ill humor. 

“The thing to order, I suppose, is spaghetti,” he 
suggested. 

Tony’s eyes were puzzled, and just a bit hurt. 

“I—I would choose something else,” he began un¬ 
certainly. 

“Stretch got out of the wrong side of the bed,” 
Ward broke in. “Don’t mind him, Tony.” 

Mr. Merritt, glancing at his watch, spoke crisply. 

“Some grapefruit,” he ordered, “cold cereal, coffee 
and rolls. That goes for all of us.” 

There was no protest; and while the waiter was 
preparing the order, Ward turned curiously to 
Tony. 

“Feeling all right?” he asked. 

“Very well, thank you.” 

“Where’s your home town, Tony?” Bill Barrett in¬ 
quired curiously. 

“New York.” The boy still spoke hesitatingly, in 
softly modulated voice. “My father,” he continued, 
“is what you call a contractor. I have been in this 
country for only two years, and I do not speak your 
language very well.” 

“Go to high school?” 

“Yes, I am in the first year. But it is hard.” 

“It’ll be easier after a while.” Ward turned as the 
waiter appeared, burdened with plates. Just before 
they started on the grapefruit, he held a glass of 
water high over his head. 

19 



JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“A toast, men,” he suggested, “to Tony Cuppola, 
American!” 

Laughingly, they responded—all but Stretch, 
whose glass stood untouched. And after that, they 
ate in silence, a sense of restraint heavy upon them. 

“Stretch ought to have his face pushed in,” Ward 
thought. 

But he did not say anything, and he was glad when 
the meal was finished and Mr. Merritt suggested that 
they hurry along. 

“The train isn’t a very long one,” he explained, 
“and we ought to get there early in order to find 
seats.” 

They waited until Tony paid the check, and Ward 
noticed that he tipped the waiter handsomely. But 
when, on the way across the station, he mentioned it 
to Stretch, the other boy only snorted. 

“Trying to show off!” 

The train was hardly half filled when finally they 
climbed aboard. But there a problem presented 
itself, for even with one of the seats turned over, there 
was room for only four of them, and the party con¬ 
sisted of five. 

“You boys sit together,” Mr. Merritt suggested, 
“and I’ll find a place somewhere else.” 

“It—it will be better for me to sit alone,” Tony 
contended. “I am a stranger, you know, and-” 

“We don’t want to lose you so soon,” Ward pro¬ 
tested. “Let’s-” 


20 




STRETCH GROWS RESENTFUL 


But Stretch Magens had already slipped his suit¬ 
case into a seat directly in front of theirs. 

“Vm sitting alone,” he announced emphatically. 
“I’d prefer it that way.” 

A slow wave of red crept into Tony Cuppola’s face, 
and the others looked up wonderingly. But Mr. Mer¬ 
ritt’s jaw snapped shut. 

“Very well,” he said. 

Stretch’s attitude, however, had cast a damper upon 
them; and after they had deposited their baggage on 
the overhanging racks, they relapsed into silence, 
watching with curious eyes while the train filled rap¬ 
idly, until practically all the seats were taken. Laugh¬ 
ing boys, who Ward suspected were on their way to 
Sunrise or Pinetree, shuffled happily down the aisle, 
beaming at their fellow passengers and making audi¬ 
ble comments about nothing in particular. They 
looked like good fellows, and Ward found himself 
hoping that he would get to know some of them. 

“Ever been to camp before?” he asked Tony. 

“No, I’m a stranger here.” 

“How did you happen to select Pinetree?” 

“I saw an advertisement in a magazine,” Tony 
explained, “and sent for a—a catalogue, I think you 
call it.” 

“And you don’t know anybody there?” 

“No.” 

Tony’s eyes were wistful, and Mr. Merritt, leaning 

forward, laid a kindly hand on the boy’s knee. 

21 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“Possibly,” he said quietly, “some of the fellows 
in camp may try to have some fun with you, Tony. 
But I’d take it all in good part if I were you.” 

Tony looked up doubtfully. 

“What do you mean, have fun with me?” he asked. 

“They’ll probably try to give you the razz,” Ward 
put in. 

But Tony shook his head helplessly. 

“I don’t quite understand.” 

“It’s this way,” Mr. Merritt explained slowly. 
“When a new boy attends camp for the first time, and 
hasn’t any particular friends among the other fellows, 
sometimes they initiate him. You know what that 
means, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” Tony answered. 

“And possibly, some of the hoys at Pinetree may 
make you sing a song or do something foolish. But 
it’s all in fun, Tony.” 

“Yes,” Tony said again. His big, black eyes 
looked thoughtfully out of the open window. “And 
whatever happens,” he remarked finally, “I must take 
it like a man. Is that what you mean, sir?” 

Mr. Merritt nodded. 

“Yes,” he answered quietly. “That’s the Amerh 
can way, Tony.” 

“And the way, also, of my own country,” the Itah 
ian boy answered. 

“You’re all right, Tony,” Ward said. 

They relapsed into silence, while the small engine 

22 


STRETCH GROWS RESENTFUL 

up ahead puffed audibly, and a whistle blew in sharp 
warning. 

“Going to start now,” Bill Barrett announced. 

In front of them, Stretch Magens slumped in his 
cushioned seat, his bulging suitcase beside him. He 
looked up resentfully when a pleasant-faced boy bur¬ 
dened with much baggage paused beside him. 

“This seat taken?” the hoy asked. 

Stretch frowned. 

“Can’t you see it’s got a bag on it?” he demanded. 

“Yes, but is it being reserved for any one?” 

“No.” 

“I’d like to sit there, if you don’t mind.” 

For a moment, Stretch looked up defiantly. 

“I don’t see why you can’t find some place else,” 
he said angrily. “But if you want to be mean about 
it ” 

“There isn’t any other seat. But if you’ve bought 
two tickets, of course. . . .” 

Without bothering to reply, Stretch stood up, lifted 
his suitcase to the rack and moved over grudgingly. 

“Thank you!” 

“Don’t mention it,” Stretch answered sarcastically, 
and turned sullenly to the window. 

A moment later, the train puffed its way out of the 
station: and Stretch, maintaining his silence, cupped 
his chin in his palm and gazed moodily at the passing 
country. 

Behind him, he could hear the low voices of Ward 

23 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


and the others, talking of football, of high school 
days, of the prospects of adventure which lay ahead 
of them. 

“I wish I hadn’t come,” Stretch muttered. 

The boy beside him glanced up curiously. 

“I beg your pardon!” 

Stretch frowned into his questioning eyes. 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“Oh!” 

Silence fell between them again. 

“At Sunrise,” Ward Jackson declared, “I think 
I’ll go out for the swimming team. I’m not any good 
at baseball, and Stretch can beat the tar out of me at 
tennis. How about you, Tony?” 

“I swam a good deal in Italy,” Tony answered. 
“At Pinetree. . . .” 

Stretch’s seat mate turned curiously. 

“You fellows going up to camp?” he asked. 

“To Sunrise,” Bill Barrett answered. “All except 
Tony here.” 

“I’m on my way to Sunrise, too.” 

The stranger slipped out of his seat and extended 
his hand. 

“Skillman’s my name—Rex Skillman.” 

“My name’s Barrett,” Bill told him. “And these 
other two fellows are Ward Jackson and Tony Cup- 
pola. Mr. Merritt is one of our counselors.” 

Skillman settled himself on the arm of Ward’s 
seat. 


24 



STRETCH GROWS RESENTFUL 


“Ever been there before, you fellows?” 

“No, have you?” 

“No.” The new boy smiled. “We’ll all be green 
as grass.” 

Ward regarded the back of Stretch Magens’ head 
thoughtfully. After a moment, he spoke: 

“Oh, Stretch!” 

The other boy turned. 

“Yes?” he asked coldly. 

“This is Rex Skillman, who’s going to be at camp 
with us,” Ward told him. 

Stretch nodded, but made no move to shake hands; 
and after a moment of awkwardness, Rex grinned. 

“I’m glad to know you.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Stretch said, and turned away 
to further contemplation of the scenery. 

Bill Barrett winced. 

“Never mind,” he whispered to Skillman. “He’s 
got a grouch on, but he’ll be all right after a while.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Rex said. 

But the incident had left a bitter taste in their 
mouths. Mr. Merritt’s eyes were troubled, but he / 
made no comment; and after a time the four boys 
forgot the restraint which Stretch’s actions had thrown 
over them and chatted happily about a hundred and 
one things of mutual interest. 

They chided Tony Cuppola a bit for having se¬ 
lected the wrong camp. 

“What you ought to do,” Bill told him, “is to 

25 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 

resign from Pinetree just as soon as you get there 
and then move your stuff over to Sunrise.” 

But Tony, his face serious, shook his head gravely. 

“No,” he answered, “I’ve selected Pinetree and 
I’m going to stay there all summer.” His dark eyes 
grew wistful. “I hope the boys will like me,” he 
added. 

“Of course they will,” Ward told him. 

The train drew suddenly to a grinding halt, and 
the conductor, sticking his head through the door, 
called loudly: 

“Middleburg! Ten minutes for lunch.” 

Instantly the car was in an uproar. Boys leaped 
from their seats and piled pell-mell upon the station 
platform. 

“Oh, boy!” Bill said. “Come on, you men!” 

They pushed forward, grateful for the interruption 
of the monotony of the trip. Ward Jackson, glancing 
back just as he was to leave the train, noted that 
Stretch Magens had not moved. After a moment of 
hesitation, Ward turned and approached his school¬ 
mate. 

“Come on, Stretch!” he said easily. “It’s time 
to eat.” 

But the other boy regarded him in angry stubborn¬ 
ness. 

“I don’t want anything.” 

“Don’t be a crab,” Ward told him. “Come ahead.” 

26 


STRETCH GROWS RESENTFUL 


But Stretch, who had been nourishing his “grouch" 
for the past three hours, refused to be persuaded. 

“Why worry about me?” he asked. “You’ve got 
other friends now to occupy your time.” 

Ward waited uncertainly. He knew from past ex¬ 
perience that Stretch, in his present frame of mind, 
was absolutely unmanageable. The best thing to do, 
he decided, was to leave Stretch to himself. 

“All right,” he said, and left the car without fur¬ 
ther word, while Stretch gazed after him in mingled 
anger and chagrin. 

At the lunch counter, Ward fought his way toward 
a large pile of sandwiches, managed to get hold of a 
glass of milk and to finish his hurried meal before 
the time limit. 

“All aboard!” the conductor boomed. 

The others rushed to the train again; but Ward 
waited for a moment before the deserted counter. 

“Quick!” he snapped. “Two ham sandwiches. 
Here’s your money.” 

The attendant handed him the sandwiches, wrapped 
in waxed paper; and Ward, sprinting across the plat¬ 
form, just managed to swing aboard the last car. A 
few seconds later, he found Stretch sitting alone in 
dignified silence. 

“Here,” Ward said, handing over his bundle, “you 
might want them before we reach camp.” 

Stretch looked up gratefully, and for an instant 

27 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 

the stubborn lines disappeared from around his 
mouth. 

“Thanks!” he muttered. 

Long before they reached their destination, the 
sandwiches were gone. Stretch’s hunger had con¬ 
quered his pride. 

But Stretch continued in his refusal to join the 
others; and when finally the train rolled into the 
Mountainville station, he gathered up his bags and 
followed Ward to the platform without comment. 
Here, however, there was so much bustle and con¬ 
fusion that even Stretch forgot to be angry. 


CHAPTER III 
THE SILVER CUP 


T HE camp was even better than they had ex¬ 
pected. A large semicircle of tents nestled 
on a sloping hillside facing the gleaming 
waters of Indian Lake. Below them, through the 
open flap of their own tent, they could see the “navy,” 
a flotilla of canoes, round-bottomed rowboats and 
launches, drawn up on the sandy beach or anchored 
at safe distance from the shore. Two docks, about 
thirty yards apart, jutted out into the water, and were 
joined by a wide floating raft, forming an out-door 
swimming pool of ideal proportions. 

In the center of the circle of tents stood a low- 
roofed dining hall, and about a hundred feet to the 
north, its gaunt sides unpainted, a large frame build¬ 
ing which was known as the armory and used only in 
rainy weather. From the opposite side of the lake, 
a mile or more away, towered the verdant hills of the 
White Mountains, bathed now in the golden glow of 
the early afternoon sun. 

“Gee, this is great!” Ward said. 

“The first thing to do,” Mr. Merritt told them, “is 
to go to the camp office and find out the number of 

29 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


your tent. Then you can unpack and get settled. 
Fll have to leave you now.” 

In the office, at one end of a low shack near the 
center of camp, an elderly man greeted them smil¬ 
ingly. 

“Name?” he asked. 

“Jackson, Barrett and Magens,” Ward told him. 
“We’ll be together, I think.” 

The man glanced over a list before him. 

“Yes,” he said, “you’ll be in tent 7, with two other 
boys—Skillman and Lockwood.” 

At the announcement, Rex Skillman grinned. 

“It seems,” he remarked, “as if you’re going to 
have me wished on you.” 

“That’s fine,” Ward answered. 

But Stretch Magens said never a word. He fol¬ 
lowed the others to the tent which had been assigned 
them, glanced inside critically, and then, suddenly 
resolute, turned to Rex Skillman. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, “for being such a crab on 
the train.” 

Rex looked up wonderingly. He hadn’t expected 
any such action from Stretch, and he was frankly 
surprised. But he recovered himself instantly. 

“Let’s forget it,” he suggested. “We’re tent mates 
now.” 

“Thanks!” 

Ward Jackson, noting the incident, breathed a sigh 

of infinite relief. He knew Stretch well enough to 

30 



THE SILVER CUP 


realize that it would probably take a long time for 
him to get over his antagonism to Rex; but at least 
he had made a start and had done a big thing in 
apologizing. 

“Stretch is all right underneath,” Ward told him¬ 
self. 

Tired from the long trip, they seated themselves 
before the tent. 

“This is my first season at any camp,” Rex Skill- 
man announced. “Always before I’ve spent the sum¬ 
mer at the seashore, but my mother and dad have 
gone to Europe this year and so they shipped me up 
here.” 

“Think you’ll like it?” 

“I sure will.” He was silent for a moment. “I’m 
not much good in athletics,” he said, “except at ten¬ 
nis. But there are some good courts here, and there’s 
a tournament every year. I’m going out for the camp 
championship.” 

Stretch Magens eyes widened. 

“Are you sure they have a tournament?” he asked. 

“Yes, with a gold medal for the winner.” 

Stretch grinned, but not altogether pleasantly. 

“I have a little hunch that I’d like to win that 
thing.” 

The other boy looked up curiously. 

“Play much?” 

“All summer long. And I was champion of Hills¬ 
dale.” 


31 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“Where’s that?” 

“In New Jersey.” 

Rex was silent for a moment. 

“I played Court number two for the varsity at 
Exeter Academy,” he announced finally. “Maybe 
we’ll meet in the tournament.” 

“Maybe we will.” 

“Well, may the best man win.” Rex turned to the 
others. “My luggage hasn’t come in yet,” he said. 
“Think I’ll run over to the armory and look it up.” 

“See you later?” 

“Yes.” 

After he had gone, Stretch turned to Bill and Ward 
with glowing eyes. 

“That fellow gives me a pain,” he declared. “He’s 
got a head as big as a barn door.” 

“Seems like a mighty good chap to me,” Ward 
answered. 

“Everybody seems all right to you.” Stretch 
spoke irritably. “The first thing you do is to make 
friends with an ignorant Wop and spoil the trip up 
here, and then you take an absolute stranger’s part 
against me.” 

“I’m not taking anybody’s part,” Ward contended. 
“But it looks to me, Stretch, as if you sure did get 
out of the wrong side of the bed this morning.” 

“Bosh!” 

Tactfully, Bill Barrett changed the subject. 

“There are five boys to each tent here at carpp,” 

32 


THE SILVER CUP 


he said. “That means that we’ll have another fellow 
with us. Wonder who he’ll be?” 

“Probably some stuck-up prig like Skillman,” 
Stretch remarked. “I don’t see why the three of us 
couldn’t have been given a tent just to ourselves.” 

Ward grinned. 

“That’s a part of camp life,” he answered. “It’s 
a good thing for us to get to know other fellows.” 
He looked over at Stretch slyly. “Sort of keeps us 
from thinking that maybe we’re the whole show,” 
he added. 

“Meaning?” Stretch asked. 

“Nothing,” Ward told him. 

They relapsed into silence, watching curiously 
while a big auto bus drove up with a group of boys 
who had come in on the Boston train. There was a 
good deal of confusion; loud words of greeting by 
boys who had not seen one another since the pre¬ 
ceding summer, detailed directions about baggage, 
friendly arguments over work to be done and tents 
to be cleared. 

“Sort of makes us feel out of things,” Ward re¬ 
marked wistfully. 

“Oh, we’ll get to know the others pretty soon.” 

“Wish I hadn’t come,” Stretch grumbled. 

After a time, they saw Rex Skillman returning, 
in the company of a broad-shouldered, curly- 
headed boy, with a square chin and jolly gray 
eyes. 


33 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“This is ‘Curly’ Lockwood,” Rex announced, when 
they had reached the tent. “He and I were class¬ 
mates at Exeter, but we didn’t know until now that 
both of us were coming to Sunrise.” 

“Glad to know you fellows,” Curly declared pleas¬ 
antly. “Looks as though we’re going to have a whale 
of a time.” 

“Been here before?” Ward asked. 

“Two years.” 

“Last year,” Rex Skillman put in, “he won the 
Silver Cup.” 

“What’s that?” 

“At the end of every season,” Rex explained, “a 
big cup is given to that fellow who has done the most 
for Sunrise—for its athletic prestige, its spirit, and 
things like that. It’s good stuff.” 

“Sure is,” Ward answered. 

He glanced up at Curly Lockwood with renewed 
respect, and with just a touch of awe. A natural 
leader, Ward decided; a he- man. 

“We’re honored to have you with us,” Bill Barrett 
announced. 

“The honor,” Curly answered with an elaborate 
bow, “is all mine.” Turning, he peered curiously 
into the homelike tent. “We ought to choose a 
leader,” he said. 

“A leader of what?” 

“A group leader. Each tent has to appoint a man 
to be general boss, you know.” 

34 



THE SILVER CUP 


4 T didn’t know,” Ward said. “But I guess the job 
rightfully belongs to you.” 

“We’ll have to take a vote on it.” 

“I nominate Ward Jackson,” Stretch announced 
unexpectedly. 

Ward frowned. 

“I’ve already put Curly’s name up.” 

4 ‘Let’s take a vote on it,” Rex Skillman suggested. 

He found an old envelope in his pocket and tore 
it into narrow strips. 

“Write the name of your man on these,” he di¬ 
rected, “and turn them back to me.” 

Ward wrote Lockwood’s name on the piece of pa¬ 
per, and handed it to the self-appointed teller. He 
had no doubt whatever of Curly’s fitness for tent 
leader, and he expected him to get it. But Rex, after 
he had counted the ballots, turned smilingly to Ward. 

44 Jackson has three votes,” he announced, “and 
Lockwood two.” 

Ward’s eyes opened wide with surprise; but he 
knew at once what had happened. Stretch and Bill 
had voted for him. 

“That’s bad business,” he thought. “We mustn’t 
have the tent divided right away.” 

But Curly Lockwood apparently held no resent¬ 
ment. 

“The voice of the people has spoken,” he said 
lightly. “And now, Captain Ward, what are your 
orders?” 


35 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“I haven’t any,” Ward told him, “but I sure would 
like to take a swim.” 

“Can’t do it until four o’clock,” the other boy 
answered. “And as for me, I’m going inside and 
unpack.” 

When he and Rex had gone, Stretch Magens turned 
to his two chums with sparkling eyes. 

“I guess we put something over on the highbrows 
that time,” he remarked. 

There was a troubled moment of silence, then: 

“Those fellows aren’t any more highbrows than 
we are,” Ward said quietly, “and Curly Lockwood 
ought to have been leader of this tent. We haven’t 
been playing square.” 

“He isn’t any more of a leader than you are,” 
Stretch answered. “And even if he did win the Silver 
Cup last year, he needn’t think he’s got it cinched 
this summer.” 

“Thinking of winning it yourself?” Bill asked 
dryly. 

“Not exactly. But there’s no telling what Ward 
might do, you know.” 

“Nonsense!” Ward said. But even as he spoke, 
he was mindful of Bill Barrett’s thoughtful eyes upon 
him. 

“How about setting the tent to rights?” Bill sug¬ 
gested. 

“Let’s go in!” 

They drew lots for the cots, arranged their clothing 

36 


THE SILVER CUP 


in the broad wooden chests beneath each bed, agreed 
unanimously that each fellow should be responsible 
for his own particular section of the tent, and grew 
to know one another amazingly well during the next 
hour. But through it all, Stretch Magens remained 
moodily silent, and, although he thawed out a bit 
before Curly Lockwood’s obvious good nature, he 
responded sullenly to Rex Skillman’s efforts at friend¬ 
ship. 

“I sure do wish,” Ward whispered to Bill Bar¬ 
rett, “that Stretch would get over his grouch.” 

But Stretch maintained his attitude of injured dig¬ 
nity until, at four o’clock, the sharp notes of a bugle 
sounded from the direction of the float. 

“That means the regular afternoon swim,” Curly 
announced. “And, oh, boy, won’t the water feel 
good?” 

They dug out their bathing suits irom beneath the 
cots, slipped them on quickly, and hurried down to 
the water. Ward noticed, as they waited on one of 
the docks, that many of the boys wore an elaborate 
insignia, “S C,” on the front of their jerseys. 

“Do you have to win the right to wear those let¬ 
ters?” he asked Rex Skillman. 

The other boy nodded. 

“Yes,” he answered. “You’ve got to be a member 
of the camp baseball or swimming team, or a semi¬ 
finalist in the tennis tournament.” 

“When are they awarded?” 

37 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“Any time after the first three weeks.” Rex’s lips 
shut grimly. “I’m going to try hard,” he added, “to 
get mine in tennis. What are you going out for, 
anyhow?” 

“Swimming,” Ward said. 

Mr. Merritt, who had charge of all water sports 
at the camp, walked out to the end of the dock and 
called the boys around him. 

“Only those men who have been here last year and 
passed the regular tests are permitted to swim from 
the far side of the float,” he announced. “The rest 
of you will have to stay in the pool until to-morrow, 
when the tests are given.” 

“Can we go in now?” some one asked eagerly. 

“Yes.” 

Curly Lockwood, raising muscled arms over his 
head, dove cleanly into the gleaming waters of the 
lake. 

“Let’s go!” 

Ward, waiting uncertainly, turned questioningly to 
Mr. Merritt. 

“Do I have to stay in the pool?” he asked. 

The older man regarded him smilingly. 

“I guess not, Ward,” he answered. “We’re count¬ 
ing on you, you know, to be our biggest point winner 
in the water this vear.” 

mf 

“Are the fellows much good?” 

“Lockwood’s the best. But you’ve had more expe¬ 
rience, I think.” 

“Well, here goes!” 


38 


THE SILVER CUP 


Ward tooK a running dive off the end of the dock, 
came slowly to the surface, and struck out, with pow¬ 
erful strokes, after the bobbing head of Curly Lock- 
wood. But although he did his best, he could not 
catch the other boy until Curly reached the diving 
platform, a hundred feet from the shore. Curly, 
watching him climb aboard, grinned into his shining 
eyes. 

“Where did you learn the six-beat crawl?” he 
demanded. 

“At school in New York, before I moved to Hills¬ 
dale,” Ward answered. “Gee, this is great, isn’t it?” 

“It sure is.” 

For a long time they basked in the mellow sun¬ 
shine, watching the antics of the boys in the inclosed 
pool, speaking occasionally, but mostly content to 
remain silent. 

“It looks very much,” Curly said finally, “as if you 
and I are the best two swimmers in camp.” 

“I’m not much good,” Ward protested. 

“I’m not so sure about that. How about a race to 
shore?” 

Ward nodded; and a moment later Mr. Merritt, 
cupping his hands, called out to them. 

“How about coming in, you fellows?” 

“Right-o!” Curly yelled back at him. “We’re 
going to make a race of it.” 

The other boys, hearing the announcement, gath¬ 
ered on the float and waited curiously. Ward and 
Curly crouched on the edge of the platform, and at 

39 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


the word “go” leaped off together. But Ward, swim¬ 
ming strongly, took the lead almost instantly, increas¬ 
ing his advantage as the race progressed, until, when 
he touched the float, he was the winner by a clean 
three yards. 

Curly, drawing himself out of the water, turned 
wonderingly, and with a new respect, to the boy be¬ 
side him. 

“You made me look like a novice,” he said quietly. 
“And that means, of course, that you’ll be chosen 
captain of the camp swimming team.” 

“I don’t think so,” Ward answered. “You’ve been 
here before, you know, and the fellows-” 

But Curly interrupted him. 

“You’ll be elected without doubt,” he contended, 
“because you deserve it.” He was silent for a mo¬ 
ment, his face thoughtful. “I was baseball captain 
last year,” he continued, “and I guess I’ll get it again. 
And that means, that, as the two varsity captains, 
we’ll be the closest in line for the Silver Cup.” 

“I won’t have a chance in the world,” Ward pro¬ 
tested. “You’ll get it, of course.” 

But the other boy shook his head. 

“It’ll be a toss-up,” he decided. “And—and, say, 
Ward, how about shaking on it?” 

They shook hands gravely; and Ward, looking into 
the gray eyes of the boy beside him, found there no 
trace of hostility—only honest rivalry and friendship. 

40 



CHAPTER IV 
BASEBALL 


D IRECTLY after supper on that first memor¬ 
able day at Sunrise, Dr. Southard, ven¬ 
erable director of the camp, called together 
the hundred-odd boys under his charge for a twilight 
mass meeting. Very carefully, and in patient detail, 
he explained to them the various rules and regula¬ 
tions, mentioned the Silver Cup, the baseball and 
swimming contests with Pinetree, and the winning of 
the camp insignia. And when he had finished, he 
introduced Mr. Merritt as the man who would be 
closest to them in all personal relations. 

Ward Jackson himself started the applause which 
greeted Mr. Merritt as he took his place in the midst 
of the circle of beaming faces. 

“Men,” the new counselor announced quietly, 
“there are only a few words which I have to say to 
you. In all our dealings with our fellows, whether 
it be in school, or in camp, or in the everyday walks 
of life, the same fundamental truths stand clearly 
outlined. They are honesty of purpose, and loyalty, 
and a square deal for every man. And here at Sun¬ 
rise, in the weeks that lie ahead of us, I want you to 

41 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


remember that the camp has traditions which must 
he lived up to, standards which must be met, ideals 
which must not be forgotten. And now, as members 
of the Sunrise Camp, it is up to us to stand true to the 
traditions which have been handed down to us; to 
cherish its good name, to uphold its standards, and 
to fight everlastingly for the honor of the camp.” 

With a slight inclination of his head, the speaker 
slipped quietly to his place beside Dr. Southard; and 
for a moment, only tense silence greeted him. And 
then, unexpectedly, Curly Lockwood leaped to his 
feet. 

“A long yell,” he called, “for our new counselor— 
Mr. Frank Merritt!” 

Ward Jackson was not exactly sure what “the long 
yell” was; but he added his own lusty voice to the 
volume of sound which swept across the silent lake, 
and he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Stretch 
Magens was cheering as loudly as the others. 

The words of the older man remained with him 
after the meeting had been concluded. Sitting before 
the open flap of his tent, in front of a tiny fire which 
Rex Skillman had built, he glanced speculatively at 
his tent mates, listening quietly to their occasional 
comments, noting with grim satisfaction that Stretch 
himself seemed now to be one of them, that his sullen¬ 
ness had gone. And the next morning, when he awoke 
to the golden notes of a bugle, Stretch was the first 
to greet him. 


42 


BASEBALL 


“All out for a swim!” Curly called, and they 
slipped into their bathing suits and rushed joyously 
down the hill to where Mr. Merritt was waiting at the 
float. 

The day slipped by seemingly on wings. Directly 
after breakfast, Stretch Magens dug out his tennis 
racket and followed Bill Barrett to the level tennis 
courts behind the armory. Rex Skillman, on an ad¬ 
joining court, played dashingly against a fellow he 
had picked up from tent number 6, while Stretch 
regarded him with critical eyes and grew increasingly 
dubious of his own ability to win the coming tourna¬ 
ment. At noon, when he joined the others at lunch, 
some of his sullenness of the day before had returned. 
But at least he tried to be pleasant, and that, Ward 
felt, was a step in the right direction. After a week 
or two at camp, Ward reflected, Stretch would be 
straightened out. 

In the afternoon, a meeting was called for all swim¬ 
ming candidates: twenty or more eager-eyed boys who 
gave their names to Mr. Merritt and told modestly of 
their achievements and experience. 

“It looks like a good squad,” the instructor an¬ 
nounced finally. “And I suppose the first thing that 
we should do is to elect a captain.” 

“I nominate Ward Jackson,” Stretch Magens said. 

There was a moment of silence; then Curly Lock- 
wood spoke. 

“I second the nomination.” 

43 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


Rex Skillman cleared his throat huskily. 

“I was going to put up your name,” he began. 

But Curly shook his head. 

“Ward’s a better man than I am,” he announced, 
“and all you fellows know it.” 

“Oh, I say!” 

“And I move,” Curly continued, “that Jackson be 
unanimously elected.” 

Under the circumstances, there was nothing else to 
do; and a minute later, Ward Jackson, newly elected 
captain of the camp swimming team, turned shining 
eyes to the boy beside him. 

“I’m beginning to understand now,” he said 
quietly, “why it is that you won the Silver Cup last 
year.” 

Curly grinned pleasantly. 

“Easy on the soft stuff!” he warned. “How about 
some practice?” 

They found, after checking up, that prospects for 
a winning team were bright. Stretch Magens and Rex 
Skillman were both candidates for the fifty and one 
hundred yard dashes, Curly and Ward were the best 
of the long-distance swimmers, and there were among 
the others some experienced men in the fancy 
dive, the plunge, the backstroke, and the breast 
stroke. 

“We’ll have three meets,” Mr. Merritt explained. 
“One with the town boys of Millford, one with Moon¬ 
light Camp, and the final affair with Pinetree. And 

44 


BASEBALL 


if each of us gives his best, we have an even chance 
of winning.” 

“And that’s all that we ask,” Ward added. 

After the first practice was finished, he attended a 
meeting of the baseball candidates; not because he 
had any hopes of making the team, but because he 
was anxious to see Curly Lockwood elected captain. 
He found, however, that Curly was generally recog¬ 
nized as the best baseball player in camp, and when 
he had been chosen unanimously to lead the varsity 
nine, Ward smiled happily. And even though he 
remembered vividly the other boy’s prediction con¬ 
cerning the Silver Cup, he kept on smiling. For he 
knew that, no matter how strong the rivalry, they 
would still be friends. 

And the more Ward saw of Curly Lockwood, the 
better he liked him. As the days wore on, they were 
in frequent contact as members of the swimming 
team; and, although Curly gave his mornings to base¬ 
ball, the evenings were free, and the five tent mates 
spent many long hours together. Only Stretch 
Magens did not seem to fit. 

Ward was frankly worried about Stretch. The 
spirit of the camp, the traditions of which Mr. Mer¬ 
ritt had spoken so eloquently, apparently made no 
impression upon him. For Stretch, Ward suspected, 
thought more of himself than he did of Sunrise. 

He decided finally to speak to Mr, Merritt about 
it, to see if something could not be done to bring 

45 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


Stretch to his senses and to awaken in him the same 
loyalty for Sunrise that he had shown for Hillsdale 
High School. 

Slipping away from the others, he found the coun¬ 
selor giving a swimming lesson to one of the younger 
boys. Ward waited quietly until the lesson was 
ended, and then broached his subject. 

“Are you very busy just now?” he asked. 

The older man grinned into his serious eyes. 

“No,” he answered. “What’s on your mind, 
Ward?” 

“Stretch Magens,” Ward told him. 

“Supposing,” Mr. Merritt suggested, “that we get 
a canoe and paddle out into the middle of the lake. 
Then we can talk without any one interrupting us.” 

“That will be fine.” 

For a long time, they paddled quietly. Somehow, 
out there on the lake, with the distant mountains tow¬ 
ering toward the blue of the sky, the problem of 
Stretch Magens became suddenly of only minor im¬ 
portance. 

“It’s great out here,” Ward said. 

“It surely is.” 

They relapsed into silence again, while their pol¬ 
ished paddles cleaved the smooth water and the canoe 
glided gracefully forward. The muscles of Ward’s 
arms rippled beneath taut skin, his shoulders were 
the color of mahogany, his skin was clear, his eyes 
bright. 


46 


BASEBALL 


“There’s nothing quite like a summer at camp,” 
he thought, “to put a fellow in condition.” 

Mr. Merritt, slipping his paddle beneath the seat, 
turned and regarded Ward smilingly. 

“Well?” he asked. 

The direct question roused Ward from his reverie. 

“I’m worried about Stretch,” he explained. 

“What about him?” 

“Ever since camp started he’s been a regular old 
crab. He hasn’t forgotten that first time he met Rex 
Skillman, and for some reason or other he doesn’t 
like Curly Lockwood. I’m wondering if there isn’t 
something we can do about it.” 

“I don’t think so.” Mr. Merritt spoke gravely. 
“Stretch,” as you know,” he continued, “is a peculiar 
chap. He passes snap judgment on people, and when 
he gets an idea in his head, it’s like pulling teeth to 
change him. But underneath it all, I think that 
Stretch has in him the makings of a real man.” 

“Yes,” Ward admitted, “but that doesn’t make 
things any easier around the tent.” 

“What would you suggest?” 

“I thought maybe you might talk to him.” 

But Mr. Merritt shook his head. 

“That wouldn’t do, Ward.” 

“Why?” 

“Because if Stretch is to win out this summer, we 
want him to do it all by himself. He’s facing new 

conditions, meeting new people, and we want him to 

47 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


stand true to the test. The spirit of the camp, I 
think, will eventually have its way with him; but the 
best thing to do is to wait. Ward. We want Stretch 
to fight his own battle and, in the end, to stand on his 
own feet. Don’t you think so?” 

“Yes,” Ward admitted. “Maybe,” he added hope¬ 
fully, “if he wins the tennis tournament, he’ll 
change.” 

Mr. Merritt looked thoughtfully over the glitter¬ 
ing water. 

“Possibly,” he said softly, “it might be better for 
Stretch to lose.” 

After they had returned to shore, Ward puzzled 
over the counselor’s words. He could not quite 
understand why it would be better for Stretch not to 
win, unless Mr. Merritt meant that it would give him a 
chance to take defeat without whining. But Ward 
did not want Stretch to lose. 

It had become clearly apparent, after the tennis 
tournament had passed its initial stage, that the best 
two players in the camp were Stretch and Rex Skill- 
man. They had been placed in opposite sides of the 
draw, and, barring accidents, would meet in the final 
round. Ward, watching them at practice, rather 
favored Stretch to win, but there was no telling when 
his quick-tempered schoolmate might lose control of 
himself. It was probable, of course, that Stretch 
would come through the big test without wavering, 
but Ward was not entirely sure. 

48 


BASEBALL 


He followed the course of the tournament with in¬ 
creasing misgivings. Stretch accounted for his semi¬ 
final match without much difficulty, and Rex Skill- 
man, winning easily in the same round, turned to the 
other boy with shining eyes. 

“No matter who wins the cup, Stretch,” he said 
pleasantly, “at least we’ve earned the right to wear 
the camp insignia.” 

But there was no answering smile on Stretch’s face. 

“The insignia be hanged!” he said shortly. “What 
I’m after is the gold medal.” 

“You’ve got an even chance for it,” Rex told him. 

But Stretch did not answer, and Ward, watching 
him, shook his head doubtfully. 

“One thing is certain,” Ward remarked to Bill 
Barrett, “Stretch is acting like a two-year-old kid.” 

“Maybe he’ll wake up,” Bill answered. “He’s a 
good scout at heart, you know.” 

“I’d like to see him win, of course,” Ward said. 
“But sometimes I think that a good, lusty walloping 
is just what he needs.” 

They forgot about tennis, however, when on Friday 
afternoon the camp baseball team met Moonlight in 
the first of a series of three games. Only two of the 
members of tent 7 were on the team; but Curly Lock- 
wood was captain and Bill Barrett first-string short¬ 
stop. 

“The rest of us will be on the side lines yelling 

our heads off for you to win,” Ward told them. “And 

49 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


we’ll expect each of you to make at least two home 
runs and a triple.” 

“Curly’s the Babe Ruth of the team,” Bill an¬ 
swered. 

“It doesn’t matter who makes the runs, so long as 
we get them,” Curly announced. His face grew seri¬ 
ous. “We’re going to win, of course,” he added. 

But Curly wasn’t quite so confident as his words 
indicated. Sunrise had a fairly good team, but it 
was no world-beater, and Moonlight had already 
given Pinetree a hard battle. 

“The championship of the lake lies between the 
three camps,” Curly explained. “Last year we beat 
Pinetree in the final game and won the pennant, but 
they’ve got a pretty good pitcher this season—a Law- 
renceville man—and we’ll have to go some to win. 
This game to-day will give us a line on our chances.” 

“What happened in swimming last year?” Ward 
asked. 

“Pinetree won the championship.” 

“But we didn’t have Ward then,” Stretch put in. 

“No,” Curly agreed. 

They were silent for a moment. Curly Lockwood 
looked over at Ward and grinned; and their eyes met 
in friendly challenge. Two varsity captains—and on 
the success or failure of their teams depended to a 
great degree the winning of the Silver Cup. 

But when, shortly before three o’clock, the entire 
camp walked over to the baseball diamond, there 

50 





BASEBALL 


was no more loyal supporter of the Sunrise baseball 
nine than Ward Jackson. 

“The camp comes first,” he told himself stanchly, 
“and anything else doesn’t matter at all.” 

The Moonlight rooters massed themselves on the 
left side of the diamond in back of third base; and 
while their team had the field, they cheered thun¬ 
derously, with a fine show of confidence. There were 
only a half hundred or so of them, but they made up 
in enthusiasm what they lacked in numbers, and their 
players scooped up hard-grounders and smothered 
high-flies with surprising skill. 

“They look pretty good to me,” Stretch Magens 
announced. His eyes narrowed. “And it wouldn’t 
hurt you at all, Ward, if they should happen to win.” 

“But they’re not going to win,” Ward answered 
evenly. 

In the first inning, however, Moonlight scored two 
runs. Bill Orvis, pitcher of the Sunrise team, was 
wild, passing the first man to face him and hitting 
the second. The next batter struck out, but the visit¬ 
ing clean-up man smashed a double to right field 
which sent both runners over the plate. 

“Good night!” Stretch remarked. “It’s all over 
now but the shouting.” 

Orvis, however, settled down after that, and retired 
the side without further scoring. But the damage had 
already been done, and Sunrise found herself on the 
defensive, with the game barely begun. 

51 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


It was then that Curly Lockwood showed his quali¬ 
ties of leadership. He called his team around him, 
and although Ward could not hear what he was say¬ 
ing he knew that Curly was urging his men to renewed 
effort. 

46 We’ve got nine innings to catch up to them,” 
Ward said. “Watch us go, Stretch!” 

But Stretch only smiled cynically; and Ward, 
watching him, was conscious again of a feeling of 
keen irritation. With set lips, he thrust his hands 
deep into his trousers pockets and turned his attem 
tion to the game. 


CHAPTER V 
AND TENNIS 


T HE Moonlight pitcher proved to be a regular 
Christy Mathewson in disguise, and on their 
first three times at bat Sunrise did not get 
a single hit. Even Curly Lockwood was unable to 
solve the baffling delivery; and Ward, suddenly 
doubtful, began to consider the possibility of defeat. 

On the field, however, the team fought back 
bravely. After that disastrous first inning, they had 
settled down to real baseball; Orvis had found him¬ 
self and was pitching masterly balls, and the game 
promised to develop into a pitchers’ battle. But the 
two runs which Moonlight had secured began to as¬ 
sume monstrous proportions. 

Then, to make matters worse, Moonlight counted 
again in the fourth, and this time it was Bill Barrett 
who was responsible for the score. The first batter 
singled to right field, was advanced on a sacrifice, 
and took third on an infield hit which should have 
been an out. Then, with two men on base and a 
chance for a double play, Bill juggled a grounder 
just long enough to permit the man on third to dash 
triumphantly over the plate. The Moonlight rooters 

53 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


yelled joyfully, and gloom hung like a wet blanket 
over the Sunrise section. 

But still the team fought back; and Curly Lock- 
wood, refusing to be discouraged, exhorted his men 
to renewed efforts. 

“They can’t keep this up forever,” he said, “and 
their pitcher’s bound to crack sooner or later. Let’s 
go!” 

But three more innings passed, and still Sunrise 
failed to count a single run. Defeat hovered in the 
near distance, doubly tragic because of its unexpect¬ 
edness. 

“We’re rotten,” Stretch Magens declared disgust¬ 
edly. “They’ve got it over us like a tent.” 

“Oh, give us a rest!” Rex Skillman mumbled. 

Stretch looked up angrily, but said nothing. 

“No team is ever beaten until the game’s ended,” 
Ward said. 

But the sixth inning passed, and the seventh, and 
still Sunrise failed to score. When the eighth began, 
the specter of defeat drew nearer and smiled at them 

leeringly. 

But just when things looked the blackest, the visit¬ 
ing pitcher showed signs of weakening. The first 
Sunrise batter to face him received a base on balls, 
stole second, and advanced to third on a neat sacrifice 
bunt. With a man on third and only one out, things 
began to look brighter. The Sunrise rooters woke 
up and called loudly for a score. 

54 


AND TENNIS 


“We’re going now,” Rex Skillman boomed out. 
“Let’s sew up the game right here.” 

“Hencoop” Simmons, the Sunrise catcher, ad¬ 
vanced to the plate determinedly, pounded his bat 
against the ground, and waited. On the first pitched 
ball he slammed a hit to left field which had all the 
earmarks of a home run. The spectators rose to their 
feet and yelled wildly. 

The ball struck far in the outfield, bounded high, 
hit against a jutting rock, and bounced sideways, 
straight into the hands of the center-fielder, who had 
dashed over at the first impact. He threw quickly 
to the shortstop, but the runner slid into third ahead 
of the ball. 

“Safe!” the umpire announced hoarsely. 

Pandemonium broke loose among the Sunrise 
rooters. One run had already been scored and an¬ 
other was imminent. 

“We’re off!” Ward yelled, and joined his own 
voice to the volume of cheering. 

Bill Barrett, advancing to the plate, rested his bat 
against his shoulder, and waited. The visiting 
pitcher, obviously nervous, regarded him doubtfully; 
then, winding up, tried tempting him with a wide out- 
shoot. But Bill let it go. 

“Ball one!” 

Ward Jackson shifted excitedly. 

“That’s the eye, Bill!” 

The pitcher wound up again and shot the ball like 

55 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


a streak toward the rubber. Bill, setting himself, 
met it cleanly for a solid smash over second base. 

Another run! 

“Oh, boy! Oh, boy!” 

The Moonlight captain, sensing the fact that his 
team was in danger of “blowing up,” called the infield 
around him for conference. 

“Let’s get together, men,” he said, loudly enough 
for Ward to hear. “We’ve still got a one-run lead, 
and we re going to keep it. Remember, fellows, we’re 
playing for Moonlight.” 

His words, gravely spoken, served to steady them; 
the pitcher nodded grimly. 

“Let’s go, men!” 

Bill, obeying instructions of the coach, attempted 
to steal second base and was retired on a close deci¬ 
sion. And, although the next Sunrise batter hit the 
ball high and far, a visiting outfielder smothered it, 
and the rally was ended. 

But the game had suddenly taken on a rosier hue. 

The Sunrise team trotted out to the field with re¬ 
newed confidence. Sensing victory, they played like 
veterans; and although the first Moonlight batter 
smashed out a hit, he was left stranded on base when 
the three men following him tried vainly to connect 
with the ball. 

Then the last half of the ninth began. 

“We’re one run behind,” Ward announced excit- 

56 


AND TENNIS 


edly, 6 ‘and their pitcher is just about through. Here’s 
where we sew up the old ball game.” 

But Stretch Magens refused to enthuse. 

“That hit last inning ought to have been a home 
run instead of a three bagger,” he said. “Luck’s 
against us.” 

Ward frowned into his glowing eyes. 

“You old kill-joy!” 

The rest of the Sunrise rooters, however, did not 
share in Stretch’s pessimism. Advancing danger¬ 
ously close to the baseline, they called loudly for 
victory. 

Rah, rah, rah! 

Ray, ray, ray! 

SUNRISE! 

Team, team, team! 

The visiting pitcher glanced up nervously, plainly 
on edge. 

“All off now for a big inning!” some one called. 

“Oh, you team!” 

Rex Skillman’s eyes shone happily. 

“Curly’s up this inning,” he said, “and he’ll knock 

it a mile.” 

“Come on, team! Let’s go!” 

Ned Saunders, first up for Sunrise, sent a liner 
screeching toward the outfield. But the Moonlight 
shortstop, leaping high, speared the ball in his gloved 
hand for the most sensational catch of the game. The 
cheers of the Sunrise rooters froze in their throats. 

57 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“What did I tell you?” Stretch Magens asked. 

But the team refused to be discouraged. On the 
Baselines the coachers chatted. 

“A little luck there. Let’s knock the next one 
a mile!” 

The Moonlight pitcher, taking heart, faced the next 
batter confidently. Oblivious to the din of cheering, 
he put all that he had into the next three balls, and 
the batter struck out ignominously. 

“Two gone!” Ward said heavily—and gloom de¬ 
scended over the north side of the field. 

“Shrimp” MacClary, star infielder of the Sunrise 
team, walked slowly to the plate, a sense of responsi¬ 
bility heavy upon him. With narrowed eyes he 
waited, while the spectators watched breathlessly, 
and the visiting pitcher, hitching up his trousers, 
turned anxiously to his infield. 

“One more!” he called. “Just one!” 

Ward Jackson, so nervous that he was unable to 
stand still, gripped Rex Skillman’s shoulder with 
muscled fingers. 

“We’ve got to do it.” 

“Looks pretty bad,” Rex said. 

But a moment later, Shrimp connected for a solid 
smash over second base; and when the wild burst of 
cheering which followed died away, he was standing 
grinningly on the initial sack. 

“Come on!” he called. “Now’s the time.” 

Ward Jackson waited breathlessly. The Sunrise 

58 



AND TENNIS 


left fielder selected a bat with infinite care, shuffled 
to the pan, and stood threateningly. The Moonlight 
players, pounding clenched fists into gloved hands, 
shifted nervously. 

“One more!” their pitcher called again. 

But on the first ball the batter knocked a single 
over shortstop. There were two out, two on base, and 
two runs needed to win. And the next batter was 
Curly Lockwood, captain of the Sunrise team. 

“Oh, you Curly!” some one called. 

“Gee!” Ward rasped. “Go to it, boy!” 

Curly, his muscles taut, grasped his bat with des¬ 
perate grip and pounded it against the rubber. The 
rooters of both teams relapsed into tense silence, awed 
by the crisis of the moment. But if Curly was ner¬ 
vous, he gave no indication of it. He waited quietly, 
his eyes clear, his hands steady. 

“Put ’er over!” he challenged. 

The Moonlight pitcher stood indecisively. Only 
a few minutes before, victory seemed fairly within 
his grasp; now a single mistake on his part would 
spell defeat. Before him stood the heaviest hitter 
on the Sunrise team—the captain. On one side of 
him, the members of the Sunrise camp hoped des¬ 
perately for his downfall; on the other, his own sup¬ 
porters prayed silently for his triumph. 

“Just one man!” he told himself. “Only one!” 

The catcher signaled for an inshoot, and he nodded. 

But the pitch was a poor one. 

59 



JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“Ball one!” the umpire called. 

The spectators stirred restlessly. 

“Make him pitch to you, Curly!” 

Silence fell again as the visiting boxman wound 
up for the second time. The two men on bases shifted 
farther from the bags, hands extended, eyes alert. 
The ball shot forward, but Curly Lockwood made no 
move. 

“Strike one!” 

The Moonlight section cheered thunderously. 

“That’s showing them, old top!” 

And still Curly waited, his lips in a straight line, 
his muscled fingers encircling the bat. The ball 
came forward again, and he swung desperately. 

“Strike two!” 

The visiting pitcher sighed relievedly. 

“One more,” he whispered. “Just one!” 

He nodded in instant agreement as the catcher sig¬ 
naled for an outshoot. He had two balls to waste 
now, and Curly might possibly be tempted by one of 
them. 

But the man at the plate waited stolidly, and the 
umpire threw up his left hand. 

“Ball two!” 

The pitcher decided on a straight one, shoulder 
high, but Curly made no attempt to hit at it. 

“Ball three!” 

“Yea!” some one called shrilly. 

Both batter and pitcher realized that the crucial 

60 


AND TENNIS 


moment had come. Three balls and two strikes, two 
men on base, and a single run needed to tie the score! 
For a moment their eyes met. Curly tapped his bat 
against the plate. 

One more! 

The pitcher decided on an inshoot. It was his best 
chance. He hurled the ball forward with all the 
power of his muscled arm; and Curly Lockwood, 
following its swift flight, swung heavily. 

The sharp crack of wood meeting leather punctu¬ 
ated the silence which hung over the diamond, and 
the ball sailed in a line toward right field. A wave 
of wild cheering swept from the Sunrise stands. 

The fielder, turning, sprinted desperately, but the 
ball struck the ground while he was still ten yards 
away. Bounding, it rolled toward a clump of woods 
bordering the field. 

The men on first and second, after a single glance, 
dug for home. The onlookers shrieked. 

“A home run! A home run!” 

But before Curly had reached third, the two run¬ 
ners before him had scored—and the game was won. 

Sunrise 4, Moonlight 3. 

Yelling almost hysterically, the boys of Sunrise 
rushed out upon the field, lifted the protesting Curly 
Lockwood to their shoulders and marched trium¬ 
phantly around the diamond. Ward Jackson, taking 
part whole-heartedly in the general celebration, 

looked up into the other boy’s beaming face and 

61 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


recognized Curly for what he was—the biggest man 
in camp. But Ward felt no envy, no jealousy. Curly 
was a good scout, a regular fellow, and he deserved 
the Silver Cup. 

But later, Stretch Magens, joining Ward on the 
way back to the main part of the camp, smiled cyn¬ 
ically. 

“Curly will have a bigger swelled-head than ever 
now,” he declared. 

Angry retort sprung to Ward’s lips, but he re¬ 
mained silent. Bill Barrett, however, frowned irri¬ 
tably. 

“I sure do wish you’d get over your grouch.” 

Stretch, however, was unusually silent that night; 
and the next morning, when the final match of the 
tennis tournament was held, he took his place on the 
court grimly, his eyes shining and his lips set in a 
straight line of determination. 

“To look at him,” Ward said, “you’d think 
that the world was coming to an end unless he 
wins.” 

But it seemed, after the match began, that Stretch’s 
chances of winning were anything but good. Appar¬ 
ently he had decided to play carefully and to depend 
upon Rex’s errors for his points, for his returns were 
soft, his stroking uncertain, and his generalship weak. 
With remarkable quickness, Stretch lost the first set, 
six to one; and as they changed courts for the begin¬ 
ning of the second set, he cast never a glance at his 

62 


AND TENNIS 


opponent, but settled himself stolidly and waited for 
the other boy to serve. 

Practically the entire camp lined the two sides of 
the court, and although each player received his fair 
share of applause, it was noticeable that the sym¬ 
pathies of the majority of the spectators were with 
Rex Skillman. Stretch had not made himself espe¬ 
cially popular during his few weeks at Sunrise. 

But Stretch, ignoring the onlookers, centered his 
attention on the game, playing even more carefully 
as the match progressed, and losing successive games 
with astonishing rapidity. And as the prospects of 
victory grew dim, his thin face paled beneath its tan, 
and his dark eyes narrowed. He fought back, grimly, 
however, making no comment, offering no excuses. 
But he lost the second set, six to love. 

“It’s all over now but the shouting,” Bill Barrett 
declared. “Stretch is way off form.” 

But Ward had not entirely lost hope. 

“If he’ll stop being so careful,” he said, “and play 
the game he’s capable of, he can win yet.” 

“Maybe we ought to tell him.” 

“I don’t think so.” Ward spoke slowly. “Stretch’s 
our friend, of course, but so is Rex; and we’re all 
members of the same tent.” 

“Probably you’re right,” Bill agreed. “But I wish 
Stretch would get going.” 

A small group of boys, believing the match as good 
as ended, strolled away from the courts in the direc- 

63 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


tion of the lake. And in so doing, they missed what 
was probably the finest exhibition of tennis that the 
camp had ever seen. For Stretch Magens, realizing 
that he could not win by purely defensive tactics, 
suddenly decided to cast caution to the winds and 
play the slashing, smashing game which had won him 
the championship at Hillsdale and brought him to the 
final match of the present tournament. 

On Rex’s service, Stretch slammed the ball in 
booming Lawfords to the back court, rushed eagerly 
to the net, and smothered his opponent’s easy returns 
in neat chip-shots to the sidelines. On his own serv¬ 
ice, he kept to the back court until an opportunity 
to dash forward presented itself; and then, grim¬ 
lipped, he hovered over the net, while Rex tried des¬ 
perately, but without avail, to “pass” him. 

In quick succession, Stretch won the first four 
games at love, dropped the fifth game after deuce had 
been called six times; and then, employing all the 
skill at his command, slammed his way to victory in 
the third set. 

Rex Skillman, passing him as they changed courts, 
smiled into his glowing eyes. 

“Good work! You sure did have me going.” 

But Stretch made no answer, and Ward, noticing 
the incident, felt vaguely ashamed. 

“It’s all right to win,” he told himself with a touch 
of bitterness. “But the least that a fellow can do is 
to be a good sport about it.” 

64 


AND TENNIS 


Stretch continued his relentless tactics in the fourth 
set; smashed the ball recklessly but with uncanny 
precision to the back court, dashed to the net at every 
opportunity, and counted point after point, until the 
match stopped being a contest and became a rout. 
But through it all, Rex Skillman played as best he 
could. 

At the beginning of the final and decisive set, the 
spectators who had lingered knew that only a miracle 
could rob Stretch of the victory. For five games in 
a row, Stretch played beyond himself, overwhelming 
his opponent by the very ferocity of his attack. It 
was unbeatable tennis, and Rex bowed to the inevita¬ 
ble, although he fought back with all the skill at his 
command, his fighting instinct intact. 

And then, in rushing cross-court for one of Rex’s 
returns, the eager-eyed Stretch struck his foot against 
a small pebble, turned his ankle sharply, and, with 
a shrill cry of pain, pitched forward to the ground. 

Ward Jackson, the first to reach him, lifted him to 
his feet again and regarded him anxiously. 

"Hurt?” 

Stretch winced in evident pain, sank down on the 
court and seized his ankle between gripping fingers. 

"It isn’t much,” he said heavily. "It’ll be all right 
in a minute.” 

Rex, jumping over the net, looked down at him 
sympathetically. 

"We’ll call it a day, if you want to, Stretch,” he 

65 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


suggested. “We can finish out this set to-morrow.” 

But the other boy shook his head stubbornly, 
climbed to his feet and hobbled to position. 

“Let’s go,” he announced between set lips. “I’m 
all right.” 

Rex waited doubtfully; and then, at the nod of 
the referee, served the ball swiftly. Stretch met it 
squarely, but when Rex returned it to the far corner, 
Stretch could not even touch it with his racket. The 
watching boys knew then that Stretch’s chance of 
winning the tournament had passed. The score was 
five games to love in his favor, and the points forty 
to thirty; but an accident had robbed him of the vic¬ 
tory that had been almost within his grasp. 

“It’s hard luck!” Ward said. “But Stretch is 
through.” 

But just when things looked blackest for Stretch, 
Rex Skillman did a curious thing. He served a 
double fault, which gave Stretch the precious point 
which meant victory—and the championship of the 
camp. 

For a moment after the second ball had landed in 
the net, Stretch stood as one in a daze, his face impas¬ 
sive, his eyes wide with unbelief. And then, hobbling 
forward, he reached his hand over the net. 

“Thanks!” he said. 

Rex Skillman, accepting the outstretched hand, 
grinned into Stretch’- wondering eyes. 

66 


AND TENNIS 


“You sure did show me up,” he declared. “And—■ 
congratulations! ” 

But Stretch, running grimy fingers through his ruf¬ 
fled hair, refused to let it stand at that. 

“It was you, Rex,” he said quietly, “who showed 
me up for what I am—a bum sport.” Suddenly and 
unexpectedly, he smiled. “But now I’m through!” 
he answered. “And—and—thanks!” 

Ward Jackson, watching, knew that Stretch Magens 
had found himself at last. 



CHAPTER VI 

OVER THE CLIFF 


W ARD JACKSON looked over at Stretch 
Magens in pleased approval. 

“You sure have changed a lot in the 
last few days,” he announced bluntly. “What’s hap¬ 
pened to the old grouch, anyhow?” 

Stretch grinned, with a touch of embarrassment. 
“It’s gone,” he said, “where the woodbine twineth.” 
“Where’s your tennis medal?” Ward asked. 

“In my pocket.” 

“Let’s see it.” 

Stretch drew it out almost reluctantly, holding it 
rather gingerly in the palm of his hand and regarding 
it thoughtfully. 

“If I hadn’t been playing with a good deal better 
sport than I am,” he declared slowly, “this thing 
would belong to Rex Skillman instead of me.” 

“Do you think he purposely missed that last point 
so that you could win?” 

“I know he did, even though he won’t acknowledge 
it. He isn’t the kind of fellow to take advantage of 
an accident.” 

Ward, remembering all the mean things that 

68 


OVER THE CLIFF 

Stretch had said about Rex, decided to “rub it in” 
a little. 

“But after all,” he remarked dryly, “we can’t get 
away from the fact that Rex is a highbrow.” 

Stretch’s eyes flashed indignantly. 

“Highbrow or not,” he answered, “he’s a 
regular guy, and sometime I’m going to pay him 
back.” 

Down on the lake, a dozen or more boys were 
paddling lazily in gleaming canoes, and from the 
direction of the baseball field came the chatter of 
many voices. 

“Bill and I have been thinking of going over to 
Pinetree this morning,” Ward announced suddenly. 
“We can get Tony there and take a long tramp back 
in the mountains.” 

Stretch’s face clouded. 

“With that roughneck!” 

“Yes.” Ward was silent for a moment. “Rough¬ 
neck or not,” he added significantly, “Tony’s a regu¬ 
lar guy.” 

Stretch, however, only snorted resentfully; and 
Ward, whittling on an old piece of wood he had found 
outside the tent, began to whistle softly. 

Stretch’s indifference was disappointing. Ward 
had thought that perhaps, in view of the lesson Rex 
Skillman had taught him, Stretch would realize that 
even a fellow like Tony was not without his good 
points, that he would drop his attitude of hostility 

69 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 

and accept the quiet-voiced Italian as a friend. But 
Stretch, apparently, had decided otherwise. 

“Tony’s a good fellow,” Ward said. 

“He may be all right in his way,” Stretch answered. 
“But I wish he wouldn’t come around here so much.” 

“He’s only been over two or three times.” 

“Even that’s too many.” Stretch’s eyes were sul¬ 
len. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he hung around 
here just to spy on the swimming team.” 

“You’re crazy,” Ward told him. “Are you coming 
with us to-day or aren’t you?” 

“I’ll think about it,” Stretch answered. “But prob¬ 
ably not.” 

But when, a half hour later, they set off for Pine- 
tree, Stretch announced that he had decided to go 
along with them. 

“I’m tired of hanging around camp all the time,” 
he explained. “What I’d like to have is a little excite¬ 
ment.” 

They started at eleven o’clock, taking two of the 
camp canoes; Stretch and Ward in one, and Bill Bar¬ 
rett and Rex Skillman in the other. 

“It isn’t such a very long paddle,” Ward an¬ 
nounced, “and we ought to get there before noon. 
Then Tony can pack a lunch and come along with us.” 

Stretch, in the bow of the canoe, said nothing, and 
for a long time they paddled in silence, each boy busy 
with his thoughts. Although Tony had paid several 
visits to Sunrise, they had never been to Pinetree, 

70 


OVER THE CLIFF 

and Ward looked forward eagerly to an inspection of 
the rival camp. 

“They have a good bunch of fellows over there,” 
he said finally, “and I’m anxious to see the place.” 

“Probably,” Stretch told him indifferently, “one 
camp is just about the same as another.” 

“There’s only one difference,” Ward qualified. 
“Sunrise is the best of all.” 

But Stretch only grunted, and they relapsed into 
silence again until, rounding a jutting ledge of rock, 
they came in sight of Pinetree. 

“There it is,” Rex Skillman called from his canoe. 
“And the gang are all in swimming.” 

As they drew nearer the shore, a group of boys 
on a long, wide float regarded them curiously. Pine- 
tree was located on a broad stretch of green fields, 
the tents set in a line about one hundred feet from 
the water and facing the baseball diamond and tennis 
courts. In the rear, rugged mountains towered over 
them. 

“Some place!” Stretch admitted. 

“But they haven’t got anything on us.” 

As their canoes scraped against the edge of the 
dock, Tony Cuppola, who was in the water, recog¬ 
nized them. 

“Hello!” he called, and scrambled to the float. “It 
is fine of you to come.” 

Two or three other boys joined Tony, who intro¬ 
duced them with grave formality—“Tex” Austin, 

71 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


captain of the baseball team; “Dutch” Lauer, the 
camp tennis champion, and Hal Thomas, the swim¬ 
ming captain. 

“Glad to see you fellows over here,” Austin told 
them. “We’re rivals, of course, but that shouldn’t 
prevent us from being friends.” 

“We just dropped in to take Tony with us on a trip 
up the mountains,” Ward explained. “Think you can 
spare him?” 

The other boy regarded Tony affectionately. 

“I’m not so sure about that,” he said. “Tony, you 
know, is one of the strongest boosters for Pinetree, 
and you fellows might corrupt him.” 

“I don’t think there’s much danger of that.” 

“No,” Tony said. 

Hal Thomas looked over at Ward curiously. 

“You’re the swimming captain, aren’t you?” he 
asked. 

“Yes,” Ward answered. 

“A long-distance man?” 

“Yes.” 

The rival captain smiled. 

“You’ve got a good man to beat. Tony’s our star, 
you know.” 

“So I’ve heard.” Ward smiled easily. “But if I 
have to be beaten, I’d just as leave have Tony do it 
as any one else.” 

Stretch Magens snorted, but the Pinetree captain 
nodded gravely. 


72 


OYER THE CLIFF 


“That’s about the way the fellows around here 
think of him,” he said. 

A slow wave of crimson suffused Tony’s face, but 
his eyes were shining. 

“The boys here,” he announced quietly, “have been 
very good to me.” 

“And you’ve been good to us.” Hal Thomas 
turned to the visitors. “You fellows like to take a 

• QJJ 

swim : 

“I guess not,” Bill Barrett answered. “We’re 
anxious to get started. How about it, Tony, like to 
come along?” 

“Very much,” the Italian boy answered. 

“Hurry it up then,” Stretch put in. 

While Tony went over to the camp kitchen for his 
lunch, they talked of many things; of the baseball 
game with Moonlight, of the prospects of Sunrise 
and Pinetree fighting it out for the swimming cham¬ 
pionship, of tennis and camp rules. 

“Curly Lockwood will win your silver cup again, 
I suppose,” Tex Austin suggested. “Most of us know 
him from last year, and he sure is a regular guy.” 

“He’ll win it,” Stretch answered, “unless Ward 
here beats him out. It’s between the two of them 
noW.” 

The Pinetree boys looked up critically. 

“If you can beat Curly,” Austin said, “you must 
be there” 

“I haven’t a chance in the world,” Ward assured 

73 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


him. He turned the talk to Tony. “How is he mak¬ 
ing out over here?” 

“Fine! It was a little hard for him at first, but 
he came through in great shape.” 

“I knew he would,” Ward said. 

“But he’s a Wop,” Stretch protested. 

“That doesn’t make any difference with us.” It 
was Hal Thomas speaking. “And he can swim like 
a fish.” 

“If it hadn’t been for Ward, he wouldn’t be swim¬ 
ming at all,” Stretch announced. 

“How’s that?” 

“Ward saved his life on the way up here. Dived 
off a Hudson River boat after him.” 

Hal Thomas nodded. 

“I remember now that Tony said something about 
it.” He turned to Ward smilingly. “Then, if we 
beat you in the swimming meet, some of the credit 
will have to go to you.” 

“// you beat us,” Ward answered. 

Tony, returning, announced that he was ready to 
start. 

“Come again and make a regular visit of it,” Tex 
Austin told them. “And be sure to take good care 
of Tony.” 

“We’ll do that,” Ward promised. “So-long, you 
men!” 

“So-long!” 

They pushed their canoes off the float, waved pleas- 

74 


OVER THE CLIFF 

antly, and followed the shore of the lake toward 
Scudder’s Inlet. 

“We’ll hit the trail up to the ridge of Mount Tain- 
ter,” Ward announced, when they had landed, “and 
then follow the cliffs along the river.” 

“And just before lunch we’ll take a swim some¬ 
where,” Rex added. He turned to Tony curiously. 
“You’re on the Pinetree team, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” Tony answered. “I am a long-distance 
swimmer.” 

“You’ll probably race against Ward then, when 
we have our meet.” 

Tony’s face clouded. 

“Yes, Mr. Ward and I will probably be—rivals.’* 
“Mr. Ward,” Stretch put in dryly, “will probably 
make you look like a canal boat.” 

Tony looked up doubtfully, as if he did not quite 
understand. 

“From the reports I’ve heard,” Ward announced, 
“Tony’s likely to wallop the tar out of me.” 

“If I do,” Tony answered quietly, “it will be be¬ 
cause I want to win for my camp.” 

“Like it over there?” 

Tony’s face lighted, and his eyes shone. 

“I—I—it is great!” 

The path grew steeper after a time, so that they 
were forced to save their breath, and conversation 
languished. But they came finally to the summit of 

the mountain, where they sank down relievedly and 

75 



JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


looked with a touch of wonder over the panorama 
of undulating hills which stretched before them. 

“Maybe,” Stretch suggested, “we can find a cliff to 
climb down. I’d like to try some real stunts for 
once.” 

“And break your neck probably,” Ward answered. 
“I never was terribly crazy about high places.” 

“Neither was I,” Tony admitted. “I would be 
afraid to climb down a cliff.” 

Stretch, looking over at him, snorted contemptu¬ 
ously. 

“Let’s get on,” he suggested, “and find a place to 
swim.” 

On the far side, toward the north, the mountain 
grew more rugged, and for a time they followed a 
rocky ledge which dropped abruptly to a deep, narrow 
stream which wound its way through a channel of 
sheer rock. Stretch Magens, his eyes shining, was in 
his element. Oblivious to danger, he leaped easily 
from rock to rock, occasionally leaned over to exam¬ 
ine the side of the gorge, and finally called a halt. 

“This,” he announced, “is just the kind of place 
I’ve been looking for. And I’m going to climb down.” 

The others looked over at him doubtfully, and 
Tony Cuppola’s face went white. 

“Oh, don’t do it!” he protested. “You may fall 
and hurt yourself.” 

But the words served only to strengthen Stretch’s 
resolution. 


76 


OVER THE CLIFF 


“I dare you to follow me,” he challenged. 

Tony drew back fearfully. 

“I’m afraid,” he answered. “It’s dangerous.” 

“You’re crazy to try such a thing, Stretch,” Bill 
Barrett put in. “Let’s eat our lunch.” 

But Stretch shut his lips stubbornly. 

“Any of you fellows going to come with me?” he 
demanded. 

“No,” Ward said. He felt that Stretch was about 
to do a foolish thing, but he knew that opposition only 
angered the other boy, and he could think of no way 
to stop him. “Why not wait until after we eat?” he 
temporized. 

But Stretch, without answering, walked to the edge 
of the cliff and let himself over carefully. Then his 
eyes sought Tony’s. 

“I dare you to come!” 

“No,” Tony told him quietly. 

“See you later,” Stretch said, and began his peril¬ 
ous descent. 

Face downward upon the top of the ledge, the other 
boys watched him anxiously. The cliff was a steep 
one, almost perpendicular, but occasionally hardy 
bushes jutted out from between hanging rocks, and 
the uneven surface gave many footholds. An experi¬ 
enced mountain climber could probably have made 
it without much difficulty, but Stretch was a novice; 
and although his courage was unquestioned, his skill 

was hardly equal to the task, and he realized, before 

77 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


he was half-way to the river, that he had made a 
mistake. He refused to give up, however, and 
with set lips and eyes which held just a trace of 
fear, he picked his way carefully from bush to 
bush. 

It appeared to the watching boys above him as if 
he was going to make it. He had gone two-thirds 
of the way without accident, and the worst part of the 
journey seemed to have been passed. But suddenly, 
when he was still twenty feet or so from the bottom, 
a bush which he had grasped refused to bear his 
weight and gave way unexpectedly. Stretch, losing 
his balance, reached desperately for a jutting ledge, 
missed it, and then, with a shrill cry, half rolled and 
half fell down the side of the cliff. 

His body, gaining swift momentum, scraped along 
ragged edges of sharp rocks, struck with a dull thud 
against a narrow ledge directly over the water, rolled 
over once, and then came to a halt. One hand 
dropped lifelessly into the cold water of the moun¬ 
tain stream; and Stretch, motionless, lay balanced 
perilously on the smooth slab of stone, in momentary 
danger of falling into the swiftly surging water of the 
river. 

The boys above him had risen to their feet and 
were regarding one another with fear-filled eyes. 
Ward Jackson was the first to speak. 

“He’s unconscious,” Ward rasped. “And if he 
falls into the water, he’ll probably drown.” 

“We’ve got to get down to him.” 

78 


OVER THE CLIFF 


“Yes.” 

“But how?” 

There was a moment of tense silence; then Ward 
spoke again. 

“The only way,” he announced, trying to speak 
calmly, “is to go back along the cliff for about a half 
mile. We can get down to the river there, and follow 
the bank upstream.” 

“But Stretch might fall off at any moment.” 

“It’s the only thing to do, though.” 

For a few seconds they waited, a sense of futility 
heavy upon them. Then: 

“Let’s go,” Bill Barrett said, and led the race along 
the ledge in the direction of the spot downstream 
where they could descend the cliff. 

But Tony Cuppola remained where he was. He 
was dazed by the tragedy he had just witnessed, and 
his mind worked slowly. But one thing he knew: 
that Stretch Magens lay helpless at the foot of the 
cliff, and that at any moment he might shift his posi¬ 
tion and tumble into the water from the slab of rock 
which held his unconscious body. It would take at 
least twenty minutes for Ward and the others to reach 
him—and twenty minutes were too long a time to 
wait. 

White-faced, and with his heart thumping like a 
hammer against his ribs, Tony decided to scale the 
cliff after Stretch. He was frightened, so frightened 
that for a full half minute he stood without moving 
fighting down the fear which threatened to overcome 

79 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


him. Then, his mind clearing, he crept to the edge of 
the cliff, and let himself over. 

Sixty feet below, the sound of rushing water drifted 
up to him, and the roar of it silenced for a moment 
the frightened beating of his heart. Forgetful of him¬ 
self, thinking only of the motionless figure balanced 
above the river, he flattened his body against the face 
of the cliff and began his slow descent. Foot by foot, 
testing each new support before he relinquished the 
old one, grasping the roots of scraggy bushes, the 
edge of jutting rocks, he felt his way toward the goal. 
He kept his eyes straight before him, not daring to 
look down, telling himself over and over again that 
there was no danger, that he had only to keep his 
head, to refrain from thinking of anything but 
Stretch, to accomplish his purpose. 

There was no one to watch his heroic attempt at 
rescue, no one to shout words of encouragement, or 
to cheer him on. If he should fall, his body would 
probably roll to the river, be carried downstream— 
to oblivion. Or maybe Ward Jackson and the others 
would discover him. . . . 

He shook his head almost angrily at the thoughts 
which forced their way into his mind. 

“I must go on,” he said, speaking in Italian, his 
natural language, “and think of nothing else but 
Stretch.” 

It did not occur to him that his action was doubly 

heroic in view of the continued hostility which Stretch 

80 


OVER THE CLIFF 


Magens had manifested toward him. All that he 
knew, or cared to know, was that a human life was 
in danger, and that he was in a position to help. And 
never once did he consider the possibility of turning 
back; in spite of the fear which gripped him, he re¬ 
solved, calmly and courageously, to see the thing 
through, no matter what the cost. 

So he kept on, his hands torn by contact with the 
sharp rocks, his shirt ripped in places, his canvas- 
covered feet cut and bruised. He felt his way slowly, 
with infinite care, not daring to look down, chafing 
over the slowness of his progress, yet realizing the 
danger of undue haste. 

He was conscious, after a time, of an increasingly 
strong temptation to take a single look downward, 
to assure himself that Stretch was still safe upon 
the ledge. Momentarily forgetful, he dropped his 
eyes, glimpsing the rushing river below. Sudden 
nausea overcame him, so that his foot slipped, and 
for a second or two he hung in mid-air, only his 
tenacious hold upon the roots of a bush preventing 
him from falling. He kicked around wildly until 
his feet found solid support again; and then, sud¬ 
denly faint, he clung to the side of the cliff and 
waited, while his breath came sharply and the beating 
of his heart drowned out all other sound. For a min¬ 
ute or two he steadied himself, and then, urged by 
the necessity for action, he resumed his journey, more 

slowly this time, more deliberately. 

81 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


He knew instinctively that he had finally reached 
the spot from which Stretch had fallen. The river, he 
realized then, was hardly twenty feet below him, 
and he decided to risk another glance downward. His 
eager eyes discovered instantly the figure of Stretch 
Magens, and he breathed a silent prayer of thankful¬ 
ness as he realized that Stretch had not moved. But 
he was still balanced perilously on the ledge, and 
even now, if he should shift his position. . . . 

Very calmly, his fear suddenly gone, Tony meas- 
used the distance to the river. Directly below Stretch 
was a wide pool, apparently of safe depth. 

“If I should jump,” Tony thought, “I would save 
climbing over the worst part of the cliff, and—and 
I would get to him sooner. It’s better that way, I 
think.” 

The ledge on which he stood was wide enough to 
permit him to turn around in safety. Tony, bracing 
his back against the rock, waited just for a moment, 
and then, springing far out, jumped toward the pool 
below. His body struck the water with a loud splash, 
and came to the surface a second later. Shaking his 
head, he struck out for the spot where Stretch Magens 
lay. And just as he reached the ledge, Stretch opened 
his eyes, groaned softly, shifted his position, and 
slipped noiselessly into the dark water. 

But as he fell, Tony Cuppola was awaiting him. 


CHAPTER VII 
STRETCH MAKES A DECISION 


T ONY CUPPOLA had gone home, and the five 
tent mates were sitting on the dock at Sun¬ 
rise Camp. Ward Jackson had just told the 
story of Stretch’s rescue to the wide-eyed Curly Lock- 
wood. 

“You could have knocked me over with a feather,” 
Ward concluded. “It took us longer than we thought 
to get back to Stretch; and when we finally reached 
the spot, there was Tony sitting on the ledge with 
Stretch’s head in his lap, both of them soaking wet, 
and the cut on Stretch’s forehead neatly bound up 
with a strip from Tony’s shirt.” 

“If Tony hadn’t climbed down the cliff, you feh 
lows would have been too late, wouldn’t you?” Curly 
asked. 

“Yes, by ten minutes.” 

“What did Tony say about it?” 

“Not a blamed thing.” It was Stretch Magens who 
spoke. “When I tried to thank him, he only smiled, 
and said that he hadn’t done any more than Mr. Ward 
did for him.” 

“He saved your life, though.” 

“Yes. And—and he showed me up, too.” 

83 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“How?” 

“I’ve been calling him a roughneck and things like 
that, and then he comes along and risks his own life 
for mine.” Stretch was silent for a moment. “I 
guess,” he added, after a time, “that roughnecks are 
just as good as any one else.” 

“And highbrows, too,” Ward suggested. 

Stretch raised his head and looked directly into 
Rex Skillman’s quiet eyes. 

“Yes,” he agreed. 

“Let’s swim,” Rex said. 

They dove off together into the sun-bathed water of 
the lake; all except Stretch, whose cut head had been 
carefully dressed by the camp physician and who had 
been forbidden to enter the water or take part in any 
athletics for a period of three weeks. But even 
though his absence would weaken the swimming team, 
Captain Ward Jackson was satisfied, for he felt that 
the experience through which Stretch had gone was 
more important even than victory. 

Ward was anxious, though, to go through the season 
without defeat, and when Sunrise won from Millford 
on the following Saturday, he was perhaps the happi¬ 
est boy in camp. 

“It’s a good thing for you that we won,” Stretch 
told him later in the day. “If you can captain an 
undefeated swimming team, your chances for the 
Silver Cup will be just so much stronger.” 

84 


STRETCH MAKES A DECISION 


But Ward only grinned. 

“Pm not thinking of the Silver Cup,” he said. 

Deep down in his heart, however, he admitted that 
he would like to win it; not so much for the cup itself 
as for what it represented. The baseball team was 
doing well, had lost only one game out of five, and 
had already defeated Pinetree. And Curly Lock- 
wood, the captain, was, of course, one of the out¬ 
standing figures of the camp. But if the swimming 
team could win all its meets. . . . 

Ward shook his head almost angrily. 

“The best thing for me to do is to forget it,” he 
told himself grimly. 

But he found, as the days passed on, that the 
awarding of the Silver Cup became an increasingly 
interesting topic among the boys at the camp; and he 
knew, after the swimming team had defeated Moon¬ 
light, that he was frequently mentioned as a possible 
winner. 

“It’s between you and Curly Lockwood,” Bill Bar¬ 
rett told him once. “But Curly won it last year, 
and if we can beat Pinetree in swimming, you’ll have 
the edge, I think.” 

“It won’t matter,” Ward answered. “But I sure 
would like to beat Pinetree, just the same.” 

The rival camp, however, had an exceptionally 
strong team, and the meet promised to be a close one. 

But against Moonlight, Sunrise had made the better 

85 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 

showing; and, barring accidents, Ward was fairly 
confident of victory. 

The meet was scheduled to be held on the last 
Saturday afternoon of the season; and on Friday eve¬ 
ning, directly after supper, Ward called the members 
of the team together for final conference. 

“We’ll go over to the beach,” he announced, when 
they had all gathered on the float, “build a big fire, 
and try to dope out the results of the different events 
to-morrow.” 

Mr. Merritt, who, as coach of the team, was pres¬ 
ent at the conference, smiled into Ward’s solemn eyes. 

“I had some of the younger boys stack wood this 
afternoon,” he said. “And the fire is all ready to be 
lighted.” 

“Let’s go!” 

Pushing and jostling, they hurried to the shore- 
end of the jutting pier and arranged themselves in a 
small semicircle on the white sand of the beach. 
Ward, applying a match to the carefully prepared 
mound of timber, waited until the licking flames 
pierced the gathering darkness, and then turned to 
his fellow members. 

“Men,” he said, and there was a ringing quality 
to his voice which was in itself an inspiration, “this 
is the last night that we’ll be together as members of 
the swimming team. To-morrow, we face our final 
test, our big test; but I feel that if each of us gives 
the best that he has for Sunrise, we’ll win the cham- 

86 


STRETCH MAKES A DECISION 


pionship of the lake. The camp expects us to win, 
and we must not disappoint them.” 

It was a long speech for Ward to make, and he 
felt, as he stood in the glow of the roaring fire, that 
he had not said exactly what he intended to say. But 
the other members of the team were visibly im¬ 
pressed, and Curly Lockwood cleared his throat 
huskily. 

“You can count on all of us to give everything that 
we have,” he stated quietly. 

Ward nodded. 

“Yes,” he answered, “we can count on that.” 

After a moment of silence, Rex Skillman spoke. 

“How do the prospects look?” he asked. 

“Pretty good! There are ten events,” Ward ex¬ 
plained, “and this afternoon the Pinetree captain 
came over to arrange the program.” 

“What is it?” 

“I’ve got it here.” 

Ward pulled a sheet of paper from his sweater 
pocket and read slowly: 

“1. 50-yard dash. 

2. Plunge for distance. 

3. 150-yard breaststroke. 

4. 200-yard relay. 

5. Junior 100-yard swim. 

6. 100-yard breaststroke. 

7. 220-yard swim. 

87 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


8. 100-yard swim. 

9. Fancy dive. 

10. 440-yard swim.” 

“How do the points count?” some one asked. 

“Five for first and three for second, except in 
the relay. The winning team in that event gets eight 
and the losing team nothing.” 

“That makes a total of eighty points,” Stretch put 
in. “We’ve got to get over forty to win the meet.” 

“Can we do it?” 

“We sure can.” Ward spoke grimly, and his 
clean-cut jaw was even squarer than ever. “We’re 
putting both Stretch and Rex in the fifty and one hun¬ 
dred, and we expect at least ten points in those two 
events. Fat Harper is going to win the plunge, and 
the Junior hundred and breaststroke look easy.” 

“How about the longer distances?” 

“We’ll put Curly in the 220 and me in the quar¬ 
ter.” 

There was a moment of silence, then: 

“You’ll have your work cut out for you to beat 
this fellow Cuppola in the four-forty,” Fat Harper 
said. 

“I know it,” Ward agreed. “Against Moonlight, 
his time was seven seconds faster than mine.” 

“He’s some swimmer,” Rex Skillman put in. 
“And if he beats you, Ward, we’ll have to make it 
up in some other race.” 


88 


STRETCH MAKES A DECISION 


“Yes.” 

No one spoke for a time. The fire had spent its 
early fury, and was now glowing redly, an occasional 
dart of purple flame leaping from the smoldering 
ashes. The lake before them was half hidden in 
gathering shadow, blotting out the mountains on the 
opposite shore. Behind them, on the sloping hillside, 
the semicircle of brown tents stood like motionless 
sentinels; and occasionally a shrill voice broke in 
upon the silence which encompassed them. 

Stretch Magens, sitting cross-legged on the sand, 
ventured a glance at Rex Skillman. Stretch, who 
had learned a number of things during the past few 
weeks, found himself suddenly glad that he had come 
to the Sunrise Camp. A wave of affection for the 
camp itself and for the members of the swimming 
team swept over him. Without conscious impulse, he 
found himself recalling the words of Mr. Merritt on 
that first day of the season: “And now, as members 
of the Sunrise Camp, it is up to us to stand true to the 
traditions which have been handed down to us; to 
cherish its good name, to uphold its standards, and 
to fight everlastingly for the honor of the camp.” 

“Gee!” Stretch said. 

“What’s that?” Ward asked. 

“Nothing.” 

They relapsed again into silence, feeling no neces¬ 
sity for words. Stretch Magens, unaccountably at 

peace with all the world, felt within him a growing 

89 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


desire to prove his worth as a member of Sunrise, to 
do something big, something generous—to atone, in 
a way, for his attitude of the early days. And as he 
sat there in the waning light of the fire, a sudden idea 
came to him as a possible means of atonement. 

The winners in each of the events the next day 
would, he knew, be awarded gold medals. His own 
medal, which he had won in the tennis tournament, 
had been given him solely through the generosity of 
Rex Skillman. Rex, whom he at first scorned as a 
conceited highbrow, had done a big thing—for him. 

“And now,” Stretch asked himself eagerly, “why 
can’t I do the same kind of thing for Rex by letting 
him win one of the races to-morrow?” 

He was, he realized, a faster swimmer than the 
other boy; in the first meet with Millford he had won 
both the fifty and one-hundred yard events without 
much difficulty. But he had been out of practice for 
three weeks, and if he chose to let Rex finish first in 
the longer race, no one would be the wiser. And Rex 
would get the medal, and his own debt would be paid. 

With shining eyes, Stretch turned to Ward Jackson. 

“You’re expecting Sunrise to win both the fifty and 
hundred, aren’t you?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Ward answered, “we’re counting on at least 
ten points in those two races.” 

“Think we can beat the Pinetree entries?” 

“One of you ought to. Why?” 

“I was just asking,” Stretch said. 

90 



STRETCH MAKES A DECISION 


Two or three of the other boys stirred restlessly. 

“How about getting back?” 

“No need of staying here, I suppose,” Ward agreed. 
“Anything to say, Mr. Merritt?” 

“I guess not.” The older man stood up. “Only 
this: that in victory or defeat to-morrow, we must all 
play fair and square, and remember that the camp 
comes first.” 

The camp comes first! Stretch Magens, lying wide- 
eyed upon his cot, while his tent mates slept quietly 
beside him, wondered vaguely if, by permitting Rex 
to win one of the races the next afternoon, he would 
not be putting himself before Sunrise. Supposing, 
for instance, that one of the Pinetree entries should 
be faster than Rex! What would happen then? Rex 
would not get his medal, after all, and Sunrise would 
lose some precious points, might even lose the meet 
itself. 

“But a thing like that couldn’t happen,” Stretch 
muttered stubbornly. “Both Rex and I are faster 
than the men we’re going to swim against.” 

Nevertheless, he found it hard to get to sleep. He 
wanted Sunrise to win the meet; the spirit of the 
camp had now worked its way into his veins until it 
was an integral part of him. Sunrise was his camp, 
deserving of his best. They mustn’t lose to-morrow, 
they mustn’t lose! 

It wouldn't be fair to Ward Jackson for them not 
to win, Stretch reflected. Ward, as captain of the 

91 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


team, was in line for the Silver Cup. And Stretch 
wanted him to get it. Ward was a good scout, a 
prince! 

Stretch turned restlessly, so that the cot squeaked. 

“Dog-gone it!” he said. 

He fell, finally, into troubled slumber, dreaming of 
Rex Skillman and Tony Cuppola, and a race that was 
endless. But when he awoke the next morning, his 
indecision was gone. 

“I’m going to let Rex Skillman win the hundred,” 
he said. “He did a big thing for me, and it’s up to 
me to pay him back.” 

The morning dragged along monotonously. On 
Monday the camp would break up, and most of the 
boys spent an hour or two in packing their belongings 
and getting ready for departure. An atmosphere of 
tense expectancy, of suppressed excitement, hovered 
over the tents; Sunrise had already beaten Pinetree 
in baseball, and a swimming victory was needed to 
make the summer complete. 

The members of the team, trying hard to conceal 
their nervousness, wandered about in languid groups, 
reviewing the order of events, figuring critically on 
torn sheets of paper, hoping to win, looking forward 
to winning, and yet fearful of the unexpected. At 
luncheon, they ate sparingly, conscious of the anxious 
glances of the other boys. 

But the worst was over when, at two o’clock, Pine- 
tree descended upon them in a body. The arrival of 

92 


STRETCH MAKES A DECISION 


the opposing team was a tangible thing, something 
they were able to cope with. 

“Let’s get dressed,” Ward ordered, “and be down 
to the float in fifteen minutes.” 

They donned their bathing suits hurriedly, and 
Stretch noticed, with a touch of anger, that his hands 
were shaking. 

“Brace up,” Ward told him. “After all, whether 
we win or lose, the world will go on just the same.” 

“I want to win,” Stretch answered, “and I want you 
to get the Silver Cup.” 

“Forget it!” 

At the float, they found the Pinetree team awaiting 
them. Hal Thomas, the rival captain, greeted Ward 
smilingly. 

“Everything’s arranged, isn’t it?” 

“Yes.” 

“How about starting, then?” 

“We’re ready.” 

One of the smaller boys, strutting importantly, 
raised a scarlet megaphone to his lips. 

“All out for the fifty-yard dash!” 

Stretch Magens and Rex Skillman, slipping off 
their sweaters, advanced nervously to the edge of the 
float. 

The big meet with Pinetree was about to begin. 


CHAPTER VIII 
THE LAST EVENT 


A T the crack of the gun, Stretch dove cleanly into 
the unruffled water of the outdoor pool. As 
^ ^ the bodies of the four contestants came to the 
surface, Stretch was slightly in the lead. At the far 
end, he turned skillfully, increasing his advantage, 
holding it until, amid the thunderous cheers of the 
Sunrise followers, he touched the finish line a winner 
by a clean four feet. 

Climbing happily to the float, he rested for a 
moment, while Rex Skillman, breathing heavily, 
turned shining eyes to his. 

“Congratulations! ” 

“How did you make out?” 

“Third,” Rex said. “Just out of the running.” 

Stretch nodded grimly. 

“Your chance will come later.” 

But the other boy only smiled. 

“I couldn’t win the hundred in a thousand years.” 

The shrill voice of the announcer sounded again. 

“All out for the plunge!” 

Sunrise had only one entry in that event, but Fat 

Harper was good for over fifty-five feet, and they 

94 


THE LAST EVENT 


expected him to win. He lived up to expectations, 
floating almost to the sixty-foot mark and adding 
another five points to the Sunrise score. 

Ward Jackson, aiding him in his laborious climb 
to the float, pounded him happily upon the back. 

“Oh, you Fat!” 

“The score,” Curly Lockwood announced, “is now 
ten to six. It’s going to be easy, Ward.” 

“Sure does look that way!” 

But Pinetree had a surprise in store in the breast¬ 
stroke. Ward had counted upon Jim Nelson, the Sun¬ 
rise ace, to score at least three points; but the two 
rival swimmers were unexpectedly good, and in a 
driving finish, they managed to shut Jim out by a 
matter of inches. 

Ward, his eyes suddenly somber, frowned disap¬ 
pointingly. 

“What do you know about that?” 

“That gives them a four-point lead,” Stretch de¬ 
clared soberly. “We—we’ve got to win the relay.” 

“We sure do.” 

From the Sunrise rooters massed along the shore 
sounded the “short yell” of the camp: 

“Rah-rah-rah! 

Rah-rah-rah! 

SUNRISE!” 

Ward turned eagerly to the four members of the 
relay team. 


95 



JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“Let’s go now! And give everything that we’ve 
got—all of us!” 

They nodded grimly, and Rex, first of the Sunrise 
swimmers, crouched on the edge of the float, his body 
tense. 

The gun barked. 

Rex finished his fifty yards two feet in the rear, 
but Stretch Magens, taking up the burden on the sec¬ 
ond lap, overcame the handicap, and gave Curly 
Lockwood a yard advantage. Curly, fairly lifting 
himself through the water with a short-armed, power¬ 
ful stroke, increased the lead by another foot; and 
after that, it was all over but the shouting. Amid the 
din of a hundred lusty voices, Ward swam the last 
fifty yards in twenty-six seconds and touched the float 
a winner by a clear five feet. 

It was Stretch Magens who lifted him from the 
water; a shining-eyed Stretch who hugged him joy¬ 
ously and threatened to squeeze the last remnants of 
breath from his heaving chest. 

“That’s the boy, jWard!” some one called. 

Curly Lockwood grasped his hand joyfully. 

“Eight more points for Sunrise! And that puts us 
in the lead again.” 

Tony Cuppola, grave of face, confronted Ward 
wistfully. 

“For my camp I am sorry, Mr. Ward,” he said 
quietly. “But for you, I am glad.” 

Ward grinned into his serious eyes. 

96 


THE LAST EVENT 


“The meet’s young, Old Sober-sides,” he declared. 
“And your chance comes later, you know.” 

“My chance,” Tony answered steadily, “to win— 
for Pinetree.” 

As the other boy turned away, Ward looked after 
him curiously. 

“Tony sure does think a lot of his camp,” he re¬ 
flected. 

But there was little time for Tony just then; for 
the announcer had already given his call for the hun¬ 
dred-yard junior swim, and four contestants, all under 
fifteen years of age, had advanced to the edge of the 
float. Ward, walking over to them, grinned reassur¬ 
ingly at the two eager youngsters who represented 
Sunrise. 

“Go to it, fellows,” he said. “And let’s roll up the 
score.” 

They nodded gratefully, grew suddenly tense at 
the word of the starter, and dove desperately at the 
sound of the gun. But the race, after the first two 
laps, developed into a walkaway for Billy Atkinson, 
the Sunrise star; and although Pinetree managed to 
finish second, another five points was added to the 
home team’s score. 

“It’s all over now,” Stretch declared happily. 
“Only a miracle can beat us.” 

“What is the score, anyhow?” Curly demanded. 

“Twenty-three to seventeen,” Ward answered. 
“Let’s go!” 


97 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


There was a slight delay before the hundred-yard 
backstroke; and Stretch Magens, waiting impatiently, 
ran muscled fingers through his ruffled hair and told 
himself relievedly that things were going to come out 
all right, after all. For one-half of the program had 
already been completed, and Sunrise was safely in 
the lead. 

“No matter what I do in the hundred-yard swim,” 
he told himself, “Sunrise is going to win.” 

His assurance grew stronger after the next event, 
which “Skinny” Leonard won by a scant six inches. 
But he won, nevertheless, adding five more points to 
the growing total, while the shouting boys on the bank 
pounded one another on the back and sent the “long 
yell” ringing over the quiet waters. 

“It’s as easy,” Stretch said, “as falling off a 
log.” 

“The score,” Ward told him, “is twenty-eight to 
twenty, and only four events to go. But you’d better 
win the hundred, just to sew things up.” 

“The two-twenty comes first,” Stretch answered. 
Suddenly, his eyes grew thoughtful. “Come over to 
the end of the float,” he directed. “I want to say 
something to you.” 

When they had drawn away from the others, Ward 
turned curiously. 

“What’s up?” 

“Nothing much.” Stretch hesitated a moment. “I 
was going to suggest,” he explained finally, “that you 

98 


THE LAST EVENT 

go in the two-twenty yourself and keep Curly for the 
quarter.” 

“Why that?” 

“You can win the shorter distance, but you haven’t 
got such a good chance against Tony in the quarter. 
And you ought to win, Ward, if—if you want to get 
the Silver Cup.” 

Ward’s eyes clouded. 

“Do you mean,” he asked quietly, “for me to make 
Curly swim against Tony, so that he’ll be beaten?” 

“Something like that,” Stretch admitted. 

Ward Jackson turned fairly to the boy beside him. 

“Just between the two of us, Stretch,” he asked 
quietly, “you wouldn’t respect me much if I did a 
thing like that, would you?” 

A slow wave of crimson crept across Stretch 
Magens’ sun-browned face. 

“I—I want you to win the Silver Cup.” 

“But not that way.” 

For a moment, the eyes of the two boys met, and 
then Stretch looked away. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but it was for you, Ward.” 

“I know! But let’s forget it, Stretch.” 

When they rejoined the others, the two-twenty had 
already started. Curly Lockwood, swimming easily, 
held the lead, reaching the first turn a yard in advance 
of his three opponents, increasing his advantage in 
each succeeding length of the pool, until, when he 
began the final twenty yards, there was no doubt of 

99 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


the outcome. And even though a Pinetree boy finished 
second, the joy among the Sunrise rooters was whole¬ 
hearted and unconfined. 

Ward Jackson, the first to reach Curly after his 
victory, held out a calloused hand. 

“Good stuff!” he said. “Good stuff!” 

As their grips met, the sound of thunderous cheer¬ 
ing enveloped them. 

“Rah, ray, ray! 

Rah, rah, rah! 

Bow, wow, wow! 

Sunrise! 

Lockwood, Lockwood, LOCKWOOD!” 

“I hope,” Curly said evenly, “that they give the 
same yell for you at the end of the quarter, Ward.” 

Their hands fell apart, and Ward, still smiling, 
walked over to where Stretch Magens was getting 
ready for the next event. He had sensed in that cheer 
the death-knell of his own hopes for the Silver Cup, 
but he did not mind. That is, not very much! For 
Curly Lockwood was a real man; and after all, it was 
what a fellow did rather than what he won that 
counted. 

Stretch, his eyes shining, grinned happily. 

“That makes the score thirty-three to twenty-three,” 
he announced. “And we’re going to come through, 
Ward, we’re going to come through.” 

“Eight more points,” Ward told him, “will win the 

100 


THE LAST EVENT 

meet. And we’re counting on you, Stretch, to get five 
of them.” 

“On me or Rex,” Stretch answered. 

There was something in the way he spoke which 
caused Ward to glance up curiously; but Stretch’s 
face was impassive, and at the word of the announcer 
he hurried over to the starting line. 

“Stretch acts as if he’s got something up his sleeve,” 
Ward told himself doubtfully. “But it won’t matter 
much, one way or the other.” 

Stretch, meeting Rex Skillman at the edge of the 
float, unexpectedly held out his hand. 

“Let’s shake on it, Rex.” 

Nodding, the other boy gripped Stretch’s muscled 
palm. 

“May the best man win!” 

“The best man is right,” Stretch answered; and 
waited tensely for the gun. 

He felt, as soon as they struck the water, that he 
was a better swimmer than the two Pinetree entries. 
For the first length of the pool, he set the pace, half 
turned toward Rex, who swam easily beside him. 
After the turn, however, he dropped back, permitting 
his team-mate to take the lead, content to let Rex have 
his way. A few feet behind him, the visiting swim¬ 
mers splashed through the water, one of them already 
outdistanced. 

As they turned again at the float, Ward Jackson 

leaned far over and called out hoarsely: 

101 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“Hit it up, Stretch, hit it up!” 

But Stretch had already made his decision, and he 
had no intention of changing it. Sunrise was ten 
points in the lead, and only three events remained. 
The meet was as good as won, and he had a debt to 
pay. Swimming easily, he watched Rex Skillman 
with critical eyes, and decided that Rex was good 
enough to win. 

On the last turn, he noted that the best Pinetree 
entry was still more than two yards in the rear, an 
apparently hopeless handicap to overcome in a single 
length of the pool. Himself unwearied, knowing that 
he had only to give added impetus to his strokes to 
win, Stretch smiled grimly and remained a foot or 
two behind his laboring team-mate. When he was 
still forty feet or more from the finish line, he raised 
his head slightly and glanced backward. The Pine- 
tree swimmer was apparently as far behind as ever, 
and Stretch, satisfied that he was no longer a factor 
in the race, gave his attention to Rex Skillman. 

Rex, fighting his way forward, crept slowly toward 
the spot where Ward Jackson stood with cupped 
hands, yelling something unintelligible. Stretch, his 
own arms flailing, half closed his eyes in an assumed 
agony of effort and drew almost even to his struggling 
team-mate. The crowd roared hoarsely, and Ward 
waved his arms in sudden fearful warning. 

But Stretch was not looking at Ward. The race 

102 


THE LAST EVENT 


had been an easy one for him; he was free from the 
weariness which usually possessed him at the end of 
a gruelling contest, and his mind was working clearly. 
Convinced that the Pinetree entries had no chance, he 
was conscious only of a feeling of exaltation, of grim 
satisfaction that he had been man enough to do a big 
thing and pay back the debt that he owed to Rex. 

Glancing up, he glimpsed the edge of the float 
hardly six feet in front of him. Rex Skillman, weak¬ 
ening rapidly, made a last despairing effort, buried 
his head in the rough water of the pool and drove his 
aching body forward. Stretch, less than a foot be¬ 
hind, raised his own hand and held it suspended until 
Rex, with a sigh of infinite relief, grasped the float 
and hung on pantingly. Beside him, Stretch looked 
into his glowing eyes, and grinned. 

“Congratulations!” he said. “You won the race, 
Rex.” 

The other boy nodded dazedly, and his parted lips 
whispered something which Stretch could not hear. 
From the direction of the Pinetree rooters sounded 
the thunder of hoarse cheering, and Stretch turned 
questioningly. The announcer, megaphone unlifted, 
addressed the crowd upon the bench: 

“Results of the hundred-yard swim: first, Reynolds 
of Pinetree; second, Skillman, of Sunrise; time, one 
minute and seven seconds!” 

A volume of lusty cheers greeted the announce- 

103 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


ment; and Stretch Magens’ face went suddenly pale. 
He climbed excitedly to the float and confronted Ward 
Jackson with flashing eyes. 

“What’s this?” he demanded. “Didn’t Rex win 
the race?” 

Ward shook his head stolidly. 

“He led until the last two yards,” he answered. 
“Then Reynolds came even and beat him by inches.” 

“And—and Rex won’t get the medal?” 

“No.” 

Stretch’s face clouded, and his fists clenched im- 
potently at his sides. 

“I—I—,” he stammered. “I thought Rex was 
going to win.” 

He was conscious of Ward’s suspicious gaze, but 
he did not care. 

“You poor boob!” Ward said, and there was a hint 
of affection and something akin to respect in his hon¬ 
est blue eyes. “I understand now.” 

“Understand what?” 

“That you tried to give Rex the medal so as to pay 
him back for that tennis match.” 

“But instead,” Stretch answered miserably, “I only 
lost the race for Sunrise.” 

“It won’t matter,” Ward told him reassuringly. 
“The score’s thirty-six to twenty-eight, and we’re sure 
of a first place in the dive. They can’t beat us, 
Stretch.” 

But in the fancy dive, which Sunrise had expected 

104 


THE LAST EVENT 


to win without question, Bob Conlon, their star entry, 
struck his head on the springboard on his second 
attempt at a back jack-knife and was unable to con¬ 
tinue. As a result, Pinetree counted eight precious 
points, and made the score all even. 

Thirty-six to thirty-six, and only the quarter mile 
remaining! 


CHAPTER IX 

THE WINNER 

W HEN Bob Conlon injured his head so that 
he could not continue in the fancy diving 
event, Stretch Magens sank down weakly 
upon the slippery floor of the dock, while the surface 
of the lake danced crazily before his staring eyes and 
the group of boys on the beach became a dark, inde¬ 
terminable mass of shifting figures. 

For perhaps five minutes, while the camp physician 
dressed Conlon’s wound and the three remaining 
divers continued to perform, Stretch sat motionless, 
his knee drawn up to his chin, his face buried in his 
arms. 

“Darn it all!” he said. 

The burden of defeat pressed heavy upon him. 
When he had made his sacrifice, had generously per¬ 
mitted Rex Skillman to finish ahead of him in the 
hundred-yard swim, Sunrise had been ten points in 
the lead and ultimate victory had been practically 
assured. He had meant Rex to win; and when Rex 
had been beaten by inches, Stretch was conscious only 
of a personal regret that Rex would not be awarded 
the gold medal. But he had not suspected for an 
instant that the thing he had done would weaken the 

106 


THE WINNER 


chances of the team. Much as he wanted to even his 
own score, he knew that the camp came first. 

But even after that unexpected setback, Sunrise 
was still eight points in the lead, and only two events 
remained to be contested. If Bob Conlon had not 
been injured, Sunrise would have won five points in 
the dive and would have been assured of victory. 
But now the count was even, and only the quarter mile 
was left. And Tony Cuppola, who was swimming 
for Pinetree, had never yet been beaten. 

At the thought of Tony, Stretch raised his head, 
and his lips parted. Tony’s opponent, of course, was 
Ward Jackson; and Ward had saved the other boy’s 
life. If it had not been for Ward, Tony would not 
be swimming at all. Surely, in view of all that had 
happened. . . . 

Suddenly resolute, Stretch leaped to his feet and 
hurried along the dock to the place where Tony Cup¬ 
pola was standing. 

“Tony,” he announced excitedly, “I want to see 
you a minute.” 

The Italian boy nodded quietly and followed 
Stretch to the shore. 

“I am going to swim in a few minutes now,” he 
said. 

“I know.” Stretch looked into the depths of Tony’s 
clear black eyes and was suddenly doubtful. But he 
did not waver. “That’s what I want to speak to you 
about.” 


107 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“Yes?” 

“You realize, don’t you,” Stretch continued, “that 
Ward Jackson saved your life and that you owe him 
something?” 

“Yes,” Tony answered, “I—I can never forget.” 

“Well, then, I’m going to give you a chance to pay 
him back.” 

“How?” 

“By letting him win the quarter mile this after¬ 
noon.” 

There was a moment of silence, while Tony’s brown 
face darkened and his fingers twitched nervously. 

“I don’t think I could do that,” he said slowly. 

“Probably you don’t quite understand,” Stretch 
told him. “Here at Sunrise we give a big cup every 
year to the man who has done the most for the camp. 
Ward is one of the two fellows in line for it, and if he 
wins this afternoon, if his team wins, he probably will 
be chosen for—for the big honor. And he wants it, 
Tony.” 

“But he has a chance to beat me, if he swims fast 
enough.” 

“Not much of a chance, though.” Stretch spoke 
eagerly. “A few weeks ago,” he explained, “Rex 
Skillman let me win the tennis tournament because 
I hurt my ankle when I was ahead. To-day, in an 
attempt to pay him back, I let him beat me in the 
hundred-yard swim. If I had won the race, as I 
eould have, Sunrise would now have thirty-eight 

103 


THE WINNER 


points instead of thirty-six, and a second in the quar¬ 
ter mile would give us the meet. But I did the big 
thing, Tony, and we’re in danger of losing.” 

But Tony Cuppola only raised puzzled eyes to the 
hoy before him. 

“I don’t quite understand why you did it,” he said. 

“Because,” Stretch told him, “it was the sports¬ 
manlike thing to do. That’s how we’re expected to 
act here in America, Tony.” 

The brown-skinned Italian boy shook his head 
doubtfully. 

“Would it be sportsmanlike,” he asked quietly, 
“for me to lose the meet for my camp, just to pay a 
personal debt?” 

Stretch wavered for a moment before the direct 
question. Then he shook his head angrily. 

“Yes,” he answered, “in this case, I think it would. 
Your own life is more important than your camp, 
isn’t it?” 

“But—but is it more important than my honor?” 

The dive had been completed, and as they stood 
there facing each other on the wooded shore, the first 
call sounded for the quarter mile. 

“You’re talking nonsense, Tony,” Stretch declared 
desperately. “I’ve told you what it means to Ward, 
and it’s up to you to do the square thing.” 

Stretch turned away angrily, his hands thrust deep 
into his trousers’ pockets. 

“Wait a minute,” Tony said. There was pain in 

109 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


his eyes, and honest bewilderment. “Over at Pine- 
tree,” he continued, “the young men have taken me 
in as one of them, have made me feel at home, and 
have given me their friendship. They expect me to 
do my best for them, and for the camp. I—I don’t 
know, Mr. Stretch.” 

But Stretch was oblivious to the appeal in his eyes. 

“It’s up to you,” he said shortly, “to decide be¬ 
tween them and Ward.” 

“Last call for the quarter mile!” the announcer 
boomed. 

Stretch Magens walked away, his eyes flashing re¬ 
sentfully. Whatever the outcome, he told himself 
grimly, he had done his best for Ward and for Sun¬ 
rise. But somehow, the knowledge left him strangely 
depressed, as if, after all, his best had not been quite 
good enough. 

Ward Jackson and Tony Cuppola took their places 
tensely at the edge of the dock. They were the only 
two entries, and upon their shoulders rested the bur¬ 
den of defeat or the glory of victory. Just for an in¬ 
stant, as their eyes met, Ward smiled. 

“It’s up to us, Tony,” he said. 

But the other boy did not answer; his face, Ward 
noticed, was lined as if in pain, and his lips quivered. 
At the sound of the gun, they leaped off together. 

Ward had decided, earlier in the day, to let Tony 
set the pace. His one hope seemed to be to hang on 
to his opponent until the last fifteen yards, and then 

110 


THE WINNER 


to try to beat him in a final desperate drive to the 
tape. Tony, according to past performances, was the 
faster swimmer; and Ward knew, as he followed in 
the wake of the other boy, that it was courage, and 
courage alone, which would beat him. So Ward 
swam easily, waiting for the first sign of fa^ering on 
the part of his rival. 

But Tony Cuppola did not falter. With long, pow¬ 
erful strokes he cut through the water, his face half 
buried, his legs kicking steadily, in rhythmic motion. 
With hardly a yard separating them, they completed 
the first half of the journey—eight lengths of the pool. 

On the shore, the members of both camps had 
leaped to their feet and were cheering wildly, dis¬ 
cordantly. The sound of their shrill voices drifted 
to Ward Jackson as if from a great distance, serving 
to clear his mind, to strengthen his determination to 
win. Suddenly eager, he drew even with the strain¬ 
ing Tony, while the cheering from the beach grew 
more pronounced. 

“Rah, rah, rah! 

Sunrise! 

JACKSON!” 

Tony, however, continued his even pace, and Ward 
dropped back again. They traversed one length of 
the pool—another. 

“Six more to go,” Ward muttered; and set himself 
grimly to his task. 


Ill 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


Tony, he realized vaguely, was setting an unusually 
fast pace. If he kept it up to the end, he would finish 
in close to six minutes, and Ward had never swum 
the distance within ten seconds of that phenomenal 
time. Discouragement gripped him, a sense of fu¬ 
tility, o** utter helplessness swept over him. But he 
fought on doggedly, ignoring the growing pain in the 
muscles of his shoulders, the increasing weariness 
of his aching limbs. And always, the bobbing head 
of Tony Cuppola loomed before him. 

At the beginning of the thirteenth lap, their posi¬ 
tions were unchanged. Four more to go! Four 
more! With parted lips and shining eyes, Ward con¬ 
tinued his desperate fight for victory. Once, as he 
glanced up, he glimpsed the eager face of Curly 
Lockwood; and at sight of the other boy, it occurred 
to him that, if he should lose, Curly would be awarded 
the Silver Cup. But Ward did not care for the cup 
just then, did not care for anything except the grim 
necessity of beating Tony Cuppola. The men on the 
shore, he reflected, were cheering for him to win, were 
expecting him to win. He was fighting now, not for 
himself, but for the camp. For Sunrise! 

With undimmed courage, he plowed his way for¬ 
ward, battling against the weariness which gripped 
him, ignoring the temptation to ease his efforts just 
for a moment. At the beginning of the fifteenth lap, 
he was swimming purely on his nerve. But he kept 
on unwaveringly. Two more! 

112 


THE WINNER 


His brain was whirling now in a chaos of conflict¬ 
ing thoughts, and his chest ached dully, so that he 
found it hard to breathe. The cheering of his camp- 
mates changed to a rumbling roar which had lost all 
meaning. But Ward knew instinctively that they had 
finished the fifteenth lap and had started the return 
journey again. And still, Tony Cuppola kept on, 
without faltering, apparently tireless. 

Suddenly and unexpectedly, however, when they 
were halfway to the dock, Tony faltered. The smooth 
rhythm of his stroke was broken, his feet appeared 
momentarily on the surface and splashed wildly. 
Ward, realizing only vaguely what had happened, 
found himself even with the other boy; and then— 
oh, wonder of wonders—he swept into the lead. 
When they turned for the final fifteen yards of the 
race, he led by a single foot. Tony was behind him; 
how far he did not know—but somewhere in the rear. 

Ward called then upon the last ounce of his re¬ 
serve. His muscles ached so that each succeeding 
stroke was an agony of effort; his breath caught in 
his throat and wheezed through his lips in gasping 
sobs; and his legs were heavy with such fatigue as 
he had never known. Ahead of him, only a few 
yards away, stretched the tape, held in a rigid line 
from shore to float. He fought toward it, angry at 
himself for not going faster, vaguely indignant that 
it should be there to challenge him, to mock him for 
his helplessness. He could never make it, he de- 

113 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


cided; some one was pulling it away from him. . . . 
And then, suddenly, it was gone; and in a clear burst 
of understanding, he knew that he had won. 

With a deep sigh that was almost a sob, he turned 
on his back and eased his aching muscles. A thunder 
of sound encompassed him, dark figures leaped about 
the beach, and the boats anchored beyond the float 
danced crazily. 

And then, out of the din of hoarse cheering, there 
arose a sudden sharp cry of warning. 

“Tony!” 

Instinctively, Ward Jackson turned, just in time to 
glimpse the dark hair of Tony Cuppola disappearing 
beneath the water of the pool. 

Tony had gone! Tony was drowning! 

Dazedly, Ward lay where he was, realizing the 
necessity for instant action, but powerless to raise his 
aching arms. Sobbing helplessly, he kicked through 
the water toward the spot where the other boy had 
disappeared. But he knew that even if he should 
reach Tony in time, he had not the strength to support 
him. 

Then, from off the swaying float, a boy dove cleanly 
into the ruffled pool, passed Ward in a few desperate 
strokes, and sank beneath the surface. In another 
moment, he appeared again, holding the unconscious 
form of Tony Cuppola in his arms. 

“I’ve got him!” he gasped. 

It was Stretch Magens. 

114 


THE WINNER 


Stretch, supporting Tony with one arm, trod water 
desperately and turned an appealing face to the 
watching hoys on the float. 

“Hurry!” he panted. “We’ve got to get him out 
of here.” 

Curly Lockwood and two or three of the others 
dived into the pool, relieved Stretch of his burden 
and lifted Tony from the water. Mr. Merritt, taking 
command, laid Tony carefully upon the wet hoards 
and pumped his arms rhythmically. 

“Some one get hold of the camp physician,” he 
ordered. “Tony, I think, will be all right in a few 
minutes.” 

“Are you sure?” Ward asked. 

“I think so.” The older man looked up gravely. 
“He gave so much to the race,” he said, “that he 
collapsed at the finish. But if he hasn’t swallowed 
any water-” 

Suddenly and unexpectedly, Tony’s eyes opened. 
For a moment he regarded the anxious faces around 
him dazedly; and then, his mind clearing, he strug¬ 
gled to a sitting position. 

“Who—who won?” he asked. 

“Ward just managed to beat you out,” Mr. Mer¬ 
ritt told him gently. “But you swam a great race, 
Tony—one of the greatest I have ever seen.” 

The eyes of the Italian boy searched the group 
around him until they found Stretch Magens. 

“The best that I could do,” he whispered* 

115 




JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“Of course.” Mr. Merritt turned. “I’m taking 
Tony up to my tent,” he announced. “He’ll have to 
keep quiet for a while.” 

One of the Pinetree counselors stepped forward. 

“Probably it would be wise to keep him here over¬ 
night.” 

“Yes. And you can be assured that we’ll give him 
the best of care.” 

“I know that.” The other man nodded. “All 
right, fellows, let’s get dressed.” 

But Tex Austin, who had led the Pinetree cheering 
throughout the afternoon, held up his hand for 
silence. 

“A long yell, fellows,” he directed, “for Sunrise!” 

After the cheer was finished, Curly Lockwood 
turned to his fellow campers. 

“The Sunrise yell,” he ordered, “for Pinetree! 
And how about three Tony Cuppolas on the end?” 

They gave them with a will; and Tony, a huddled 
heap in the sturdy arms of Mr. Merritt, smiled 
happily. 


CHAPTER X 
REWARDS 


O NCE inside his tent, Ward Jackson dressed 
hurriedly. He had called upon the last 
ounce of his reserve strength in order to win 
from Tony, and he was tired. His muscles ached, 
and there was a hollow feeling in the pit of his 
stomach. The elation which would naturally have 
come from a hard won victory was lacking, because 
of the near tragedy which had followed. 

“We’ll have to hand it to Tony for nerve,” Rex 
Skillman announced. “I’ve seen a lot of races in my 
time, but I’ve never yet known a man to keep on fight¬ 
ing until he couldn’t hold his head above water.” 
Stretch Magens looked up gravely. 

“Tony’s all right!” he said. 

At Ward’s questioning glance, he dropped his eyes 
and busied himself with a stubborn shoelace. 

“If it hadn’t been for you—” Rex began. 

But Stretch cut him short. 

“If I hadn’t gone in after him, some one else would. 
And I owe him something, anyhow.” 

“Well, you’re all even now.” 

“Not quite,” Stretch said evenly. 

But he offered no explanation; and Ward, looking 

117 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


at him thoughtfully, could not understand. For 
Stretch was without doubt one of the big heroes of the 
camp; he had been the first of all the onlookers to act 
when Tony Cuppola’s life was in danger, and ordi¬ 
narily he would have basked in the limelight, would 
have reveled in the praises of his friends. Now, 
however, he did not want to say anything about it; 
he acted, in fact, as if he would prefer the incident 
to be forgotten as soon as possible. 

“It sure is beyond me,” Ward muttered. 

Rex, first dressed, announced that he was going 
down to the dock to talk things over. 

“After that, I think I’ll drop in to see Tony. You 
two heroes can stick around by yourselves for a 
while.” 

But there was no answering smile on Stretch’s face, 
and when the other boy had gone, Stretch stood up 
and thrust his hands into the pockets of his white 
flannels. 

“I’m some hero,” he said disgustedly. 

“Of course you are,” Ward told him. “But you’re 
not acting like one.” 

Stretch, relapsing into silence, seated himself on 
the edge of the bed and waited for Ward to comb his 
stubborn hair into place. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Ward suggested. “It’s hot 
as blazes.” 

Stretch shook his head. 

“Just a second. I—I want to tell you something.” 

118 


REWARDS 


“Shoot!” 

“Just before the quarter-mile race began,” Stretch 
explained slowly, “I called Tony Cuppola aside and 
suggested to him that he let you beat him.” 

“What’s that?” Ward’s eyes opened wide. 

“I told him,” Stretch continued, “that he owed you 
for his life and that the least he could do was to let 
you win a race in return.” 

“And what did he say?” 

Stretch smiled ruefully. 

“He told me to go to blazes—only in his own way, 
of course.” 

“Humph!” 

Stretch rested his elbows on his knees and looked 
straight before him. 

“I didn’t see it at the time,” he said. “I was 
excited, I guess, and I wanted you to win. But I 
was pretty much of a mucker even to suggest 
it.” 

Ward, his eyes troubled, did not know quite what 
to say. He was certain, though, that Tony had given 
his best. He had said so—and Tony’s word was as 
good as a bond. 

After a moment, however, Ward stood up and laid 
a hand carelessly on the other boy’s shoulder. 

“You meant all right, Stretch,” he said quietly, 
“and after all, it—it didn’t make any difference.” 

“It did make a difference,” Stretch maintained. 

“It showed me up for the boob that I am, and it 

119 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 

proved to us that Tony Cuppola is true blue all the 
way.” 

“You’re not a boob,” Ward said. “The fact that 
you told me about it proves that.” 

“Thanks!” Stretch gulped, and Ward noticed that 
his eyes were rimmed with tears. “Anyhow,” Stretch 
concluded, “I’ve learned a thing or two this summer.” 

They went out of the tent together. The majority 
of the boys were near the shore, talking over the 
swimming meet and its sensational ending. Far out 
on the lake, the boats from Pinetree were tiny dots 
upon the water. 

“On Monday,” Ward announced regretfully, “we 
go home. But we’ve had a great time, Stretch.” 

“Yes.” 

They were silent for a moment. Curly Lockwood, 
discovering them, waved from the float. 

“Come on down, you fellows!” 

“Can’t,” Ward answered. “We’re going over to 
see Tony.” 

In Mr. Merritt’s tent, they found the Italian boy. 
His face was pale and there were tired lines about 
his mouth, but otherwise he seemed none the worse 
for his experience. He greeted them with a wistful 
smile, but he spoke first to Stretch. 

“Thank you,” he said. “I have been hearing how 
you jumped into the pool after me.” 

Stretch took his outstretched hand in awkward em¬ 
barrassment. 


120 


REWARDS 


“It wasn’t anything. I just happened to be first 
in, that’s all.” 

“In cases like that,” Tony told him evenly, “every 
second counts.” 

“/ am the man who ought to have held you up,” 
Ward said. “But, Tony, I was so dog-gone tired I 
couldn’t move.” 

“Let’s forget it,” Stretch suggested. His eyes 
found Tony’s and held them. “I’m sorry, old man, 
about what I said before the race,” he announced 
huskily. 

Tony looked over at Ward doubtfully. 

“Stretch told me about it,” Ward explained. 

“And do you think that I did the right thing?” 

“The only thing, Tony, that a good sportsman 
could do.” 

The eyes of the Italian boy cleared, and his smile 
was like a ray of sunshine. 

“It was hard,” he said, “but my honor is dearer 
even than my life.” 

“And I was pretty much of a mucker to suggest it 
to you,” Stretch put in. “I’m sorry, Tony.” 

After a moment of tense silence, Ward spoke again. 

“How are you feeling, anyhow?” 

“All right,” Tony answered. “I didn’t swallow 
much water, and”—he flexed the muscles of his arm 
experimentally—“I’m just as good as ever now.” 

“Feel like eating?” 

“Yes.” 


121 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


Ward winked significantly at Stretch. 

“We’ll take you to supper then, in about an hour. 
Come on, Stretch!” 

“I’ll come with you,” Tony announced. 

But Ward shook his head. 

“We don’t want you,” he declared in mock severity. 
“The thing for you to do is to get some sleep, if you 
can.” 

When they were again outside the tent, Ward 
grinned into Stretch’s somber eyes. 

“All Tony needs is a little rest.” 

“I wish I could do something for him,” Stretch 
said wistfully. 

“You did do something.” 

But Stretch was unusually quiet during the re¬ 
mainder of the afternoon; and as soon as the fellows 
on the float left him to himself, he slipped back to 
Mr. Merritt’s tent and talked to Tony until Ward 
dropped in. Later with Bill Barrett and Curly Lock' 
wood they sat near the head of the long table in the 
dining hall; and if his appetite was any criterion, 
Tony was indeed as well as ever. 

“They must feed you pretty good over at Pine- 
tree,” Curly suggested jokingly. “Do the rest of that 
crowd eat as much as you do?” 

“Some!” Tony answered. “I—” he announced, 
after a moment—“I ought to be getting back to¬ 
night.” 

“Not on your life,” Bill Barrett told him. “We 

122 


REWARDS 


have our big mass meeting after supper, and we ex¬ 
pect you to give a speech.” 

But Tony’s eyes opened in wild panic at that, and 
Ward hastened to reassure him. 

“Bill’s only fooling. You’ve done enough for one 
day, Tony.” 

“But you’ll come to the meeting, won’t you?” Bill 
asked. 

“I will be glad to,” Tony answered gravely. 

As soon as supper was finished, he followed Ward 
and Stretch to the shore of the lake, where the mass 
meeting was to be held. Some one had built a log 
fire, which glowed brightly; and at one side, Dr. 
Southard, the camp director, had placed a table, upon 
which rested the massive Silver Cup to be awarded to 
the man who had done most for Sunrise. 

At the sight of it, Ward Jackson’s heart missed a 
beat. He knew, now that he had won the swimming 
meet for the camp, that the cup would be given either 
to him or to Curly Lockwood; and although he told 
himself that it wouldn’t matter one way or the other, 
he knew in his heart of hearts that it mattered a good 
deal. 

Tony, sitting beside him on the sloping bank, 
turned curiously. 

“Is that the cup for the best man in camp?” he 
asked. 

“Yes.” 

“And you will get it?” 


123 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“I don’t know,” Ward said. “Probably not.” 

“But it belongs to you. You have done very much 
for Sunrise.” 

“So have some of the other fellows.” 

“It ought to go to you,” Tony persisted. “Perhaps, 
if-” 

But Dr. Southard, rising, held up his hand for 
silence. 

“This,” he announced slowly, “is our last night but 
one at camp; and according to the usual custom we 
shall vote the Silver Cup to that man who has done 
most for Sunrise. The season, I think, has been a 
good one; one of fine spirit, of real accomplishments, 
of athletic successes. We have upheld the standard 
of other years, have, in some cases, surpassed it. And 
who is the man most responsible? I am waiting for 
your verdict.” 

No one spoke for a moment; and then, unexpect¬ 
edly, Stretch Magens stood up. His face was flushed, 
but his eyes were resolute, and when he spoke there 
was no tremor in his voice. 

“I nominate Ward Jackson,” he said. 

“Second the motion!” 

As some one started to clap, Ward leaped to his 
feet. 

“I name Curly Lockwood,” he began. 

But Curly interrupted him. 

“Oh, sit down! I got it last year. It’s your turn 
now.” 


124 



REWARDS 


“Vote! Vote!” some one called. 

But Ward, his eyes shining, held up his hand for 
silence. When finally the chattering boys around him 
had quieted, he cleared his throat, and began to speak 
huskily. 

“I’m wondering,” he said, “if it wouldn’t be pos¬ 
sible for us to leave both Curly and me out of it. 
There’s another fellow in camp who’s done something 
really big. He saved a man’s life and prevented our 
swimming meet from ending in a tragedy. What 
about Stretch Magens?” 

For an instant, no one spoke. Stretch, his face 
white, caught Ward’s glance, held it, and shook his 
head slowly. Then he jumped to his feet. 

“Count me out of it, fellows,” he declared shrilly. 
“I’m not in line for an honor like that—and Ward 
knows it.” 

It occurred to Ward that Stretch was thinking of 
that brief minute before the quarter-mile race, when 
he had thrown temptation in the way of Tony Cup- 
pola. But Stretch, Ward told himself grimly, had 
done a big thing. Surely- 

The boys around him began to stir restlessly. 

“Let’s have the vote,” one of them suggested. 

“Who’s nominated, anyhow?” 

Dr. Southard’s upraised hand commanded silence. 

“The one name before us is Ward Jackson,” he 
said. Stretch stood up. 

“I move that the nominations be closed.” 

125 



JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 

“Second the motion!” Curly Lockwood called. 

“All in favor?” 

A chorus of “ayes” sounded from a hundred lusty 
throats; and Dr. Southard grinned into the eager mass 
of faces before him. 

“The election,” he said, “seems to be unanimous.” 
Reaching down, he picked from the table the massive 
silver loving cup. “It is my pleasure,” he announced, 
“to award this cup to Ward Jackson—our camp 
leader.” 

Ward climbed to his feet, happier than he had 
remembered being for a long time, but wishing, never¬ 
theless, that the ground would open and swallow him. 
With awkward steps he stumbled up the narrow aisle 
to where the venerable director stood waiting. 

Then, while the boys listened eagerly, Dr. Southard 
spoke: 

“I am glad, Ward, that you have earned the right 
to own this cup. From the standpoint of money, its 
value is not great; but it stands for something big, 
something fine, to which only a leader can attain. 
You came to Sunrise as a new boy, but from the very 
first you have absorbed the spirit which has long been 
one of our most cherished traditions, have strength¬ 
ened it and made it more than ever a part of the camp 
itself. And with this award, I extend to you my con¬ 
gratulations and hearty good wishes.” 

Some one started to clap; and after a moment, the 

Sunrise cheer boomed out across the shadowed lake. 

126 


REWARDS 


“Speech! Speech!” 

Turning, Ward regarded the others with shining 
eyes. He was expected to say something, he knew; 
but words would not come. 

“Speech!” they called again. 

Ward wet dry lips with his tongue. 

“There isn’t anything to say,” he began, “except 
to tell you fellows how much I appreciate this. It’s 
fine, and—and—” Something caught in his throat, 
and he stopped in an agony of embarrassment. 

“Let’s give him another yell,” Rex Skillman called. 

In the cheer that followed, Ward made his escape 
and sank down beside the beaming Tony Cuppola. 

“I wouldn’t have missed this for a thousand dol¬ 
lars,” Tony whispered to him. 

Ordinarily, the meeting would have been over then, 
but just before they shifted to their feet, Mr. Merritt 
took his place beside Dr. Southard, and held up his 
hand. 

“Fellows,” he said, “I want to have just a word 
with you before we break up for the night.” He 
paused as if to ask their permission to go ahead, and 
in the brief silence which ensued, Curly Lockwood 
leaped to his feet. 

“A long yell,” he called, “for the whitest man that 
ever lived.” 

When the cheer had died away, Mr. Merritt, ac¬ 
knowledging their tribute, spoke again. 

“I have in my hand,” he said, “a gold medal which 

127 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


was given me a few years ago for winning the Metro¬ 
politan high jumping championship. It was the first 
time that I had ever won a big event of any kind, and 
I have long cherished the prize because it represented 
a hard fight and a grim fight to overcome some faults 
in my jumping style. Since then, I have been given 
other medals, but the one in my hand has always 
meant something significant. It has stood for con¬ 
quest, not of others but of self.” 

Just for a moment, the speaker waited, while the 
boys leaned forward in their places, curious and ex¬ 
pectant. 

6 ‘There is a fellow who came to Sunrise at the 
beginning of the summer,” Mr. Merritt continued, 
“who did not fit in so very well at first. But grad¬ 
ually he began to forget about himself, his own ambi¬ 
tions, his own aspirations; until finally, this very 
afternoon, he crowned his summer work with an act 
of heroism which resulted in the saving of another 
fellow’s life. And so, with the permission of you 
men, I want to present this medal—to Stretch Magens, 
who has learned during the past two months how to 
play the game.” 

Mr. Merritt looked up and grinned into Stretch’s 
wondering eyes. 

“Yea!” some one called. 

Then the cheering began. 


CHAPTER XI 
BACK TO SCHOOL 


I T was the last night in camp. On the yellow 
sand of the beach, a hundred boys sat silently 
around a blazing fire, while the venerable Dr. 
Southard talked to them about the ideals of Sunrise. 
After a time they sang, their youthful voices ringing 
over the placid waters of the lake. Ward Jackson 
and Stretch Magens joined the others in the old famil¬ 
iar hymns—‘“How Firm a Foundation,” “Rock of 
Ages,” and “Lead, Kindly Light.” 

Once, between selections, Stretch leaned over and 
laid a hand upon Ward’s shoulder. 

“It’s great,” he said huskily. 

“Sure is!” Ward answered. 

When finally the meeting was ended, the campers 
climbed regretfully to their feet and shuffled slowly 
to the circle of tents dimly outlined in the light of 
myriad stars. 

But the next morning they were themselves again, 
a laughing, shouting, joyous group of boys, sorry to 
leave, of course, but glad in many ways that they 
were soon to be home again. 

Curly Lockwood and Rex Skillman said good-by 
at Albany. 


129 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“Next year,” Curly declared emphatically, “we’re 
all coming back again.” 

“Right-o!” Stretch answered. 

“And we’ll try to see that you Hillsdale fellows 
don’t cop all the honors.” 

They grinned into one another’s eyes, shook hands 
with just a touch of formality, and raced for their 
trains. Late in the night, Ward and his two chums 
tumbled out upon the Hillsdale station—and were 
home again. And the next morning, school began. 

Ward, joining the whistling Bill Barrett, found a 
group of his classmates awaiting him in front of the 
building. 

“Oh, you Ward!” 

“How goes it, Bill?” 

“Fine!” they answered, and shook hands all 
around. 

Jim Andrews, varsity guard on the football team, 
regarded them critically. 

“It sure is good to have you back again,” he said. 
“How were things up at camp?” 

“Great!” Bill declared. “And Ward here was the 
big noise, as usual.” 

“Are you in good shape?” 

“Hard as a rock.” Ward flexed the muscles of 
his arm. “Feel that.” 

“You’ll pass, I guess.” Jim’s eyes grew suddenly 
serious. “You fellows have heard about Mr. Mer¬ 
ritt, of course.” 


130 


BACK AT SCHOOL 


“Heard what?” 

“About his new job?” 

“Not a word.” Ward looked up apprehensively. 
“He isn’t leaving, is he?” 

“Not so you’d notice it. Myers has resigned as 
principal and Mr. Merritt has been given the job.” 

“Gee, that’s great!” Ward clear eyes beamed 
happily. “It will be a fine thing for Hillsdale.” 

“I’ll say it will.” 

They were silent for a moment. Mr. Myers, 
former head of the school, had been a good principal; 
but Mr. Merritt, he knew, would be a better one. 

“How about Stretch?” Mel Chalmers, another of 
the football team, asked suddenly. “Did he get 
along all right in camp?” 

“He was one of the leaders,” Ward answered. 
“Won a medal for saving a fellow’s life.” 

“He’ll come through this year then, do you think?” 

“He sure will. You can count—” Ward’s eyes 
lighted suddenly. “Here he is now.” 

They pressed forward with outstretched hands; 
Andrews and Chalmers, Doc Foulds, the school 
quarterback, and Ned Conrad, whom they hoped to 
develop into an end. 

“Heard about Mr. Merritt, haven’t you?” Jim 
asked. 

“Just a couple of minutes ago,” Stretch answered. 
“Great, isn’t it?” 

“The best piece of news in years.” 

131 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


Jim turned again to Ward. 

“But something else has happened while you were 
away,” he announced. “Do you know about the 
pupils from Wintonville?” 

Ward shook his head. 

“What about them?” he asked. 

“Wintonville High School burned down this sum¬ 
mer,” Jim explained. “And they’ve transferred all 
their students to Hillsdale for a year—until they can 
put up a new building.” 

Ward frowned. 

“They—they’re a bunch of roughnecks, aren’t 
they?” he asked doubtfully. 

“Most of them are.” Jim’s eyes, also, were dubi¬ 
ous. “There are about fifty of them, and they’ll 
come to school every morning in a bus.” 

“Humph!” Ward regarded the other boys som¬ 
berly, wondering how the new order of things would 
affect the spirit of the school. Wintonville was a 
purely manufacturing town about four miles from 
Hillsdale; its citizens were mostly foreigners, skilled 
mechanics or ordinary day laborers. 

“I hope,” he said, “that they won’t try to start 
anything.” 

“Probably,” Bill Barrett suggested, “there’ll be 
some good football players among them. They’ll be 
eligible for the team, you know.” 

“Yes, I know.” But the worried lines remained in 

132 


BACK AT SCHOOL 


Ward’s honest face. “I think,” he said finally, “that 
I’d rather have just our own bunch.” 

Bill Barrett’s eyes twinkled. 

“Why the snobbishness, Ward?” he asked mildly. 

“I don’t want to be a snob,” Ward told him, “but I 
have a feeling, somehow, that things aren’t going to 
go very well.” 

“Mr. Merritt can handle it, all right,” Jim put in. 

They relapsed into thoughtful silence, pondering 
over Ward’s unexpected attitude. And as they waited 
on the sun-bathed steps of the school for the bell to 
ring, three massive auto buses rolled up in front of 
the building and came to a grinding halt. A half 
hundred or so boys and girls tumbled out, regarding 
the group on the steps curiously. 

“There they are now,” Bill said. 

Ward regarded them critically. It took only a 
single glance to show him that the new pupils were 
different in many ways from the regular students at 
Hillsdale. They were smaller, on the whole, not 
so well dressed, and undoubtedly on lower social 
strata. But their eyes were eager for the new adven¬ 
ture, and their faces were friendly. After all, Ward 
reflected, they were going to be his schoolmates. He 
was sorry that he had said anything against them. 

Suddenly, a heavy-set boy with bulging shoulders 
gathered the newcomers around him and said some¬ 
thing in a low tone. The others nodded eagerly, and 

133 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


at his command drew into a compact circle and united 
in a ringing cheer: 

Rah, rah, rah, 

Rah, rah, rah, 

Who are we? 

Wait and see! 

Wintonville, Wintonville, 
WINTONVILLE! 

Ward’s eyes narrowed at that; but it was Stretch 
Magens who spoke. 

“That kind of thing has got to stop,” he said evenly. 
“They’re Hillsdale students now.” 

“You just bet they are,” Jim Andrews agreed. 

From somewhere inside, a bell clanged sharply, 
and the group on the porch stood up. 

“All in!” Ward called. His blue eyes regarded 
his classmates gravely. “Fellows,” he said, “let’s 
make this the biggest year of all—for Hillsdale.” 

Nodding, they followed him into the building. 

There was a good deal of confusion preceding the 
opening assembly. The Wintonville pupils did not 
know where to go or what to do, and for a few min¬ 
utes they wandered around aimlessly, making a lot 
of noise about it and apparently enjoying themselves 
immensely. But finally, the teachers directed them 
to their different classrooms, and quiet descended 
upon the school. Then another bell clanged, and they 
marched in ordered file to the auditorium. 

134 


BACK AT SCHOOL 


There was the usual hymn, the reading of the 
Bible and the morning prayer, after which Mr. Mer¬ 
ritt advanced to the front of the raised platform 
and regarded the two hundred pupils before him 
with impassive face. 

“Students of Hillsdale High,” he began, in a voice 
which was not loud but which carried, nevertheless, 
into the farthest corners of the room, “we are about 
to begin a new year under most favorable auspices. 
Due to an unfortunate fire at Wintonville, we have 
the pleasure of counting among our own numbers 
the pupils of the neighboring high school. We will 
all welcome them, I am sure, into the Hillsdale fam¬ 
ily, will give them the hand of fellowship and ask 
them to be one with us, in our standards, our ideals, 
and our spirit.” 

He paused for a moment, to permit the thunder 
of applause which had greeted his words to die away. 
Then, he continued: 

“You must also know that Mr. Myers has re¬ 
signed, and that the Board of Education has seen 
fit to appoint me to the responsibilities of his office. 
For a brief time there will be no changes in the gen¬ 
eral policy of the school; and I can now only express 
to you my pleasure at being your leader and to ask 
for your cooperation in all things. But one thing we 
must do: we must all work together for the good of 
the school; must strengthen its spirit, cherish its 
name, keep untarnished the ideals for which it has 

135 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


always stood. This is our big year, our best year, 
and our year of greatest achievement.” 

At his grave nod of dismissal, Ward Jackson rose 
from his seat and held up his hand. 

“A long yell,” he called, “for the squarest man 
that ever lived. And let’s make it a good one!” 

He noticed, however, in the volume of sound that 
followed his suggestion, that the pupils from Winton- 
ville did not join. And at the sight of them sitting 
stolidly in their places, his earlier apprehension came 
back again. Frowning, he followed his classmates to 
the Senior room. 

But the day advanced without incident, except for 
the slight confusion of minor adjustments. At noon, 
Bill Barrett posted a notice on the bulletin board: 

Football Practice 

First football practice will be held on 
the Hillsdale Oval directly after school this 
afternoon. Candidates are requested to 
report to Coach Merritt in the school base¬ 
ment at 3.15. 

Bill Barrett, Captain . 

A group of curious boys gathered around the board, 
speculating upon the chances of a winning season, 
wondering who was going to fill the place left vacant 
by Bill Stackhouse, star end of last year’s eleven. 
The Wintonville pupils were downstairs eating their 
lunches. 


136 


BACK AT SCHOOL 


“Maybe,” Mel Chalmers suggested, “that big fel¬ 
low who led their yell this morning is a football 
player. He looks like one.” 

Jim Andrews smiled amusedly. 

“He’s in my English class,” he offered, “and his 
name is Joe Krasowski.” 

The others grinned. 

“Some name!” 

“Must have been bom in Ireland!” 

“He’s Polish,” Bill Barrett explained quietly. 
“And his father’s foreman of the Mencken Chemical 
Works down at Wintonville.” 

“How about football? Did they have a team last 

O’? 

year r 

“Yes, but it wasn’t much good.” Bill spoke doubt¬ 
fully. “There ought to be a couple of real players 
among them, though,” he added. 

“Think they’ll come out for the team?” Jim asked. 

“Why not? It will be pretty poor spirit if they 
don’t.” 

Ward suddenly remembered the yell that had been 
given that morning—not for Hillsdale, but for Win¬ 
tonville. 

“Maybe,” he suggested, “we ought to go down 
and see them instead of just leaving it to the notice.” 

“Perhaps you’re right,” Bill agreed reluctantly. 
“Come ahead, we’ll do it now.” 

Ward and Stretch accompanied him to the base¬ 
ment, where they found Joe Krasowski, together with 

137 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


three other boys, inspecting the school heating system. 

“My name’s Barrett,” Bill said pleasantly, “and 
I’m captain of the football team. Thought maybe we 
ought to get acquainted.” 

The Wintonville boys turned and regarded him 
doubtfully, but without hostility. 

“Glad to know you,” Joe Krasowski answered. 
“This fellow here is my brother Jed, and the other two 
are George Coker and Fred Burchan.” 

There was a round of handshaking before Bill 
spoke again. 

“We’re holding first football practice this after¬ 
noon,” he explained, “and we’re hoping that some of 
you fellows will come out. You had a team at your 
school last year, didn’t you?” 

“Yes, we had a team all right,” Joe replied sulkily, 
“but probably we ain’t good enough for you fellows.” 

Bill’s eyes widened. 

“At Hillsdale,” he said quietly, “every candidate 
has an equal chance.” 

“Yes, but we’re from Wintonville.” 

“That won’t make any difference. We’re all Hills¬ 
dale men now.” 

Joe Krasowski smiled dryly. 

“We all go to the same school,” he agreed. “But 
that might mean something, then again it mightn’t.” 

“It will,” Bill told him evenly. “But how about 
the team? You’re coming out, aren’t you?” 

138 


BACK AT SCHOOL 


The other boy hesitated, regarding his companions 
with questioning eyes. 

“How are we going to get home if we do?” he 
asked. 

“You can take a trolley car.” 

“And get back about seven o’clock every night, 
I suppose?” 

Bill nodded. 

“It means sacrifice, of course,” he agreed. “But 
it will be worth it, if you make the team.” 

“Why?” Joe Krasowski asked him bluntly. 

“It’s worth almost anything to be able to play for 
your school.” 

“My school is Wintonville.” 

“Not now. It’s Hillsdale.” 

There was a moment of silence, while the eyes of 
the two boys met and held. 

“Hillsdale needs you,” Bill said finally, fighting 
down the anger which gripped him. “And we’d like 
to have you try for the team.” 

But the other boy only turned away indifferently. 

“We’ll think about it,” he said. 

“And you won’t come out this afternoon?” 

“No.” 

Bill gulped, his eyes glowing angrily. 

“I’ll talk to you about it to-morrow,” he said. 

“This furnace,” Joe Krasowski remarked to his 
brother Jed, “has got a pretty good firebed.” 

139 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


Bill Barrett turned away wearily, the eager light 
gone from his eyes. Frowning, Ward Jackson fol¬ 
lowed him up the broad stairway. 

“This,” Ward declared disgustedly, “is some be¬ 
ginning for a football season.” Then his square jaw 
tightened. “But we’ll get those fellows yet,” he added. 

Bill Barrett nodded grimly. 

“The school will make them come out,” he said. 


CHAPTER XII 
“TO-MORROW BY TO-DAY” 


T WENTY candidates for the varsity football 
team reported in the locker room of the 
high school shortly after three o’clock that 
afternoon. Not a Wintonville man was among them. 

Briefly, and with a touch of bitterness, Captain Bill 
Barrett told of his interview with Joe Krasowski. 
And when he had finished, Stretch Magens, impul¬ 
sive, quick of temper, and aggressive, leaped from 
the long wooden bench on which he had been sitting, 
and regarded the team leader with angry eyes. 

“If I were you,” he said grimly, “I’d tell that fel¬ 
low just where he got off.” 

“If I do that,” Bill answered, “he’ll never come 
out for the team.” 

“Let him stay away then. We got along without 
that whole crew last year, and we can do the same 
now.” 

“But we could use them,” Bill argued stubbornly. 
“We weren’t any world-beaters last year, remember?” 

“What if we weren’t? We had a lot of fun out 
of it.” 

“Yes,” Bill answered, “but we want to win for 
the school, if we can.” 


141 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 

“We’ll do it, though, without Krasowski and his 
gang.” 

“At any rate,” Mel Chalmers put in, “they haven’t 
refused to come out yet. And it isn’t any cinch to get 
home at seven o’clock every night.” 

“The thing to do,” Ward said, “is to go ahead just 
the same, whether they come out or not.” 

“We’ll have to,” Bill agreed grimly. They all 
looked up expectantly as Mr. Merritt entered. The 
older man nodded briskly, glanced at the group of 
candidates before him, and frowned. 

“What about the hoys from Wintonville?” he 
asked. “Haven’t any of them reported?” 

“No,” Stretch told him angrily, “and they’re not 
likely to, either—the roughnecks.” 

The principal raised his eyes and looked fairly 
into Stretch’s. 

“Stretch,” he said quietly, “here at Hillsdale, one 
man is just as good as another. There isn’t any such 
thing as a roughneck; it’s the stuff inside of us that 
counts, you know.” 

Two bright spots of red appeared on Stretch’s pale 
face, and his sensitive lips quivered. Ward Jack- 
son, watching him, remembered the time when Stretch 
would have openly resented such words. But now, 
Stretch only grinned feebly. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But Bill asked them to 
come out, and they turned him down.” 

142 


TO-MORROW BY TO-DAY 


“Not exactly that,” Bill explained. “They wanted 
to think it over a bit.” 

“That’s fair enough; they haven’t, of course, begun 
to absorb the Hillsdale spirit yet.” The school prin¬ 
cipal dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand. 
“How about your team, Bill?” he asked. “I wasn’t 
here last year, you know.” 

“We’ve got Ward at fullback, and myself at half, 
and Doc Foulds at quarterback,” Bill explained. “On 
the line, there’s Chubby Betts for center, Mel Chal¬ 
mers for tackle, and Jim Andrews for guard. Stretch 
was end last year, and there are two good sub-linemen 
to fill in. But we need at least another end and a 
halfback. We’re going to try to fit Ned Conrad for 
the backfield. The prospects are pretty good, I 
think.” 

The older man nodded, his eyes thoughtful. 

“I’ve made inquiries at Wintonville,” he an¬ 
nounced unexpectedly, “and down there they think 
that the Krasowski brothers are about the two best 
ends in the business.” 

Stretch Magens frowned. 

“Both of them?” he asked. 

The team coach looked up at him quietly. 

“Yes,” he said. 

Stretch turned away, his eyes dubious. 

“And there’s a hoy named Fritzinger who plays a 

rattling good game at tackle,” Mr. Merritt continued. 

143 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“We could probably make use of him in the line, 
couldn’t we, Bill?” 

The captain nodded. 

“If he’ll come out,” he qualified. 

“To-morrow, after lunch,” the principal announced, 
“I want you to send the Krasowski brothers to 
me.” 

“I’ll tell them,” Bill promised. 

“Let’s get into our suits now and out on the field,” 
the coach suggested. “How about the county cham¬ 
pionship, men? Are we going to win it?” 

The abrupt question wakened them from the 
lethargy; they nodded grimly and looked up, eager¬ 
eyed. 

“Watch us!” Jim Andrews said. 

Ward, hurrying into his football togs, wondered 
what it was about Coach Merritt that could inspire 
such instant acquiescence, such a steadfast loyalty. 
He decided, as he followed the others out upon the 
field, that it was because the older man was so unques¬ 
tionably loyal himself. 

“Let’s go!” Ward said, when their cleated shoes 
dug into the soft turf of the gridiron. “Remember, 
fellows, this is our big year.” 

He was eager to start scrimmage at once; to feel 
the contact of padded shoulders against his own 
sturdy legs, to cuddle the ball in his gripping arms 
and plunge into the center of an opposing line. But 

Coach Merritt, it seemed, had other ideas about the 

144 


TO-MORROW BY TO-DAY 


first day of practice. The did not scrimmage at all; 
did nothing except fall on the ball, try some forward 
passing and catching of punts, and run through a 
few brief formations, without calling signals. And 
Ward noticed that Stretch Magens listened eagerly 
to every word that the coach had to say. For a time 
he was puzzled over Stretch’s unusual interest; and 
then, suddenly, the reason for it came to him. The 
Krasowski brothers were both good ends, Mr. Merritt 
had said; and Stretch was afraid of losing his 
position. 

“I hope,” Ward told himself, “that Stretch hangs 
on. If he doesn’t, he’s likely to get sore, and make 
trouble, perhaps.” 

But there did not seem to be much of a chance of 
Stretch losing his place. From what the Wintonville 
fellows had said, Ward felt rather certain that they 
would not report for the team. He did not think that 
even Mr. Merritt could persuade them. 

Shortly after three o’clock the next afternoon, how¬ 
ever, when he reported at the locker room, he found 
thirteen new candidates there before him. They were 
all boys from Wintonville. 

He regarded them amazedly, mindful of their in¬ 
difference to Bill Barrett’s invitation. 

“Hello, you fellows!” he said. “Glad to know 
that you’re coming out.” 

Joe Krasowski grinned just a bit self-consciously. 

“Been talking to the coach,” he offered in explana- 

145 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


tion. “He’s arranged to have a special bus meet us 
after practice every day.” 

“Good stuff!” Ward said. 

His admiration for the school principal deepened. 
He had no idea of what Mr. Merritt had said; but 
he would like to have known. 

Captain Bill Barrett, coming in a moment later, 
smiled relievedly at the increased number of can¬ 
didates, but made no comment. They dressed quietly, 
the Wintonville boys in a group by themselves. Ward 
wished that Mr. Merritt would come in. A football 
team, he told himself, ought not to be divided. They 
would never get anywhere that way. 

But Mr. Merritt did not make his appearance, and 
the candidates walked out upon the field in search 
of him, the Wintonville boys slightly in the rear. Bill 
Barrett threw out a ball, and the players tossed it to 
one another; all except Joe Krasowski and his fol¬ 
lowers. They waited on the sidelines, watching with 
curious eyes, but making no move to participate in 
the practice. 

For a time Bill regarded them doubtfully. 

“I haven’t the least idea why they reported,” he 
said to Ward. “I wonder what Mr. Merritt said to 
them?” 

“Probably he’ll never tell us,” Ward answered. 
“But we’ve got to hand it to him; he sure does pro¬ 
duce the goods.” 

The coach came finally, just when Bill had decided 

146 


TO-MORROW BY TO-DAY 


to go over and speak to the Wintonville crowd. Joe 
Krasowski grinned at the sight of him, and the older 
man nodded pleasantly. 

“Glad to see that your team’s reported, Joe,” he 
said. “Let’s see you fall on the ball.” 

Ward watched critically as Joe prepared to obey 
the command. The Wintonville leader eyed the bound¬ 
ing ball keenly, dashed forward at just the right 
moment, and scooped it into his arms skillfully, fall¬ 
ing on his side and curving his body around the 
pigskin. 

“Good work!” the coach told him. “Who taught 
you how to do that?” 

“Nobody,” Joe answered. “But I watched a prac¬ 
tice at State University last year, and that was the 
way they did it.” 

“Let’s see some of the rest of you try it.” 

The remainder of the Wintonville group, however, 
were obviously novices at the game, with the single 
exception of Jed Krasowski. The latter, however, 
duplicated his brother’s achievement; and when he 
rose from the ground and wiped the dirt from his 
moleskin trousers, Coach Merritt commended him 
openly. 

“It looks to me,” he remarked casually, “as 
if you Krasowski brothers are born football 
players.” 

The two boys blushed in obvious gratitude. 

“We’re out for end,” Joe said grimly. 

147 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


Stretch Magens, on the outer circle of watchers, 
snorted audibly. 

“They’ll have to go some,” he whispered to Ward. 

But Ward Jackson did not answer. He had seen 
a good many high school football players in his day, 
but none of them had surpassed the Krasowski broth¬ 
ers in natural ability. They were both large, with 
broad shoulders and heavily muscled legs. And it 
was apparent from the way they went about things 
that they knew how to handle themselves. 

“It looks, Stretch,” he said finally, “as if you’re 
going to have a battle on your hands.” 

But Stretch only snorted again. 

“I’ve played end on the school team for two years,” 
he said, “and I guess it will take more than a couple 
of Wops to do me out of my position.” 

“They’re not Wops,” Ward told him shortly. 

He did not know whether to be glad or sorry that 
the Krasowski boys promised to be the two big “finds” 
of the season. Under ordinary circumstances, he 
would have welcomed them to the team with open 
arms, but the thought of Stretch Magens, and the 
possible effect of their candidacies upon him, placed 
the matter in a somewhat different light. Less than 
a year ago, Stretch had been the one big disturbing 
element in the life of the school, had done much to 
weaken the school spirit and lower its athletic stand¬ 
ards. It had not been until the end of the track 

season, when Mr. Merritt had shown him the error 

148 


TO-MORROW BY TO-DAY 


of his ways, that he had changed. And now, Ward 
knew, there was no more loyal fellow at Hillsdale. 
But if Stretch should lose his position on the football 
team, there was a possibility that he would revert to 
his former ways, would try to make things unpleasant 
again, both for the team and for the coach. Ward 
found himself hoping that Stretch would prove to be 
a better player than either of the Krasowski hoys. 
It seemed the only way out. 

But the problem bothered him, made it hard to 
concentrate on the work at hand. 

“Brace up!” Bill Barrett told him once. “The 
coach just said something to you, and you never even 
heard him.” 

“I was worrying a bit about Stretch,” Ward ad¬ 
mitted frankly. 

The team captain frowned, but said nothing. At 
one side of the field, Doc Foulds was throwing for¬ 
ward passes to Joe Krasowski, but the Wintonville 
end did not seem to be particularly skillful at catch¬ 
ing them. Ward, idle for the moment, walked over 
to watch him. Joe, it seemed, failed to turn at just 
the right moment, choosing, instead, to glance over 
his shoulder at Doc’s shrill cry and to catch the ball 
with his back toward the line of scrimmage. 

Mr. Merritt, watching without comment for a time, 
finally called a halt. 

“Joe,” he said mildly, “you’re not doing that 
exactly right.” 


149 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


The older of the Krasowski boys, who had, until 
that moment, received nothing but praise from the 
coach, looked up almost resentfully. 

“What’s the trouble?” he asked. 

“The way to catch a forward pass,” Mr. Merritt 
told him, “is to turn sharply at the command of the 
thrower, and catch it as you would a baseball or 
anything else—with your face toward it.” 

Joe Krasowski shook his head. 

“It isn’t the way I’ve been doing it.” 

“It’s the right way, though.” 

There was a hint of sharpness in the coach’s voice, 
and Joe evidently resented it. 

“Mr. Merritt,” he said quietly, “last year people 
who saw me play said that I was the best catcher of 
passes in the county.” 

The coach nodded. 

“You’re telling me that you were good last year, 
aren’t you, Joe?” he asked quietly. 

“Yes,” the boy answered. 

“Well, let me tell you something.” The older 
man’s voice was still low, but a note of command had 
crept into it. “Here at Hillsdale,” he said, “we judge 
a man’s to-morrow by his to-day , but never his to-day 
by his yesterday .” 

“Meaning?” Joe asked, unimpressed. 

“Meaning,” the coach explained, “that no matter 
how good you used to be, you must show us how good 
you are now before making the Hillsdale team.” 

150 



TO-MORROW BY TO-DAY 


For a moment, Joe stood quietly, while the signif¬ 
icance of the older man’s words drummed itself into 
his rather slow-working mind. Then, unexpectedly, 
he grinned. 

“I get you, Coach,” he said evenly. “Let’s try that 
forward pass again.” 

Ward Jackson, watching curiously, knew, as surely 
as if the line-up for the first game had been an¬ 
nounced, that Joe Krasowski would be a member of 
the Hillsdale varsity. For he had proved, by that 
one incident, that he could accept criticisms without 
resentment, and that he could “take his coaching .” 

Ward, turning away, repeated grimly the words 
which Mr. Merritt had spoken to the Wintonville end: 
“Here at Hillsdale, we judge a man’s to-morrow by 
his to-day, but never his to-day by his yesterday.” 

To Ward’s way of thinking, that could mean only 
one thing—that Stretch Magens’ two previous years 
on the Hillsdale team would count for nothing at all. 
To make the team, Stretch had still to prove his worth 
to the keen-eyed coach. His to-morrow would be 
judged by his to-day, but not his to-day by his 
yesterday. 

Across the field, Stretch was talking moodily to 
Jim Andrews. Glimpsing him, Ward found himself 
wondering vaguely if Stretch was equal to the task 
of proving himself all over again. 


CHAPTER XIII 
THE HONOR SYSTEM 


S CHOOL settled down to its usual routine of 
work, and study, and play. But something 
was wrong. The old esprit de corps, the old 
spirit of teamwork, was lacking. Not only on the 
football field, but also in the classroom, a rift was 
forming; on one side the Hillsdale students, on the 
other the boys and girls of Wintonville. 

“I wish,” Stretch Magens said bitterly, on the first 
Saturday afternoon of the term, “that the Winton¬ 
ville schoolhouse had never burned down. Those 
other fellows have simply spoiled the whole year.” 

Ward glanced up curiously. Stretch, he had 
noticed, had been unusually quiet during the past 
week; on the football field, he had gone about his 
work grimly, without comment, but it seemed to 
Ward as if his eyes glowed with increasing resent¬ 
ment and that most of the bitterness which had char¬ 
acterized his attitude during the past year had re¬ 
turned. And Ward was just a bit disappointed in 
Stretch. In spite of Mr. Merritt’s words about judg¬ 
ing a man’s to-morrow by his to-day, he found it hard 
not to remember that Stretch’s yesterday had not been 
altogether satisfactory. 


152 


THE HONOR SYSTEM 


“It won’t do any good to blame the Wintonville 
crowd for what has happened,” Bill Barrett declared 
generously. “They’re here, and we’ve got to make 
the best of it.” 

Ward nodded in eager agreement. He had thought 
the thing all out since the term started, and he was 
very much ashamed of himself for his early attitude. 
He admitted that the Wintonville pupils were dif¬ 
ferent, in many ways, from the Hillsdale crowd; that 
they had not had the advantage of home training, and 
that on the whole they were less polished than their 
more fortunate schoolmates. But after all, Ward 
argued, it was the man himself that counted, not his 
environment; and Joe Krasowski and his followers 
deserved a square deal, at least. That was what the 
American nation stood for; it was the basis of the 
democracy of which they were all so proud. 

“It seems to me,” he said, “that it’s up to us to 
absorb the Wintonville bunch into the school; to make 
them a part of us.” 

It wasn’t exactly the way he wanted to express it, 
but it was the best that he could do. 

Stretch, however, only smiled cynically. 

“A fine chance we have for that,” he answered. 
“They don’t want to be a part of Hillsdale.” 

“We’ll have to make them want to,” Ward said. 

“Whatever else we say about them,” Bill put in, 
“those Krasowski boys surely do know how to play 
football.” 


153 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“Joe especially,” Ward agreed. 

“It isn’t Joe I’m worried about,” Stretch an¬ 
nounced. “It’s Jed that’s bothering me.” 

“Why?” Ward asked, although he knew the answer. 

“Joe’s already assured one of the ends,” Stretch 
explained frankly, “and Jed’s making a strong bid 
for the other position. And if he gets it, it means 
that I’ll be only a substitute.” 

“You can be assured of one thing,” Bill told him. 
“He won’t get on unless he’s a better man than you 
are.” 

“Yes, but I’m beginning to think that he is a better 
man.” 

They were silent for a moment, while Ward de¬ 
bated the advisability of saying anything more. 
Finally, he decided to ask Stretch a question. 

“What are you going to do,” he inquired, “if Jed 
beats you out?” 

Stretch’s eyes opened wide. 

“I’ll keep right on doing the best I can, of 
course,” he answered. “What did you think I’d 
do—quit?” 

“No,” Ward announced hastily, “I didn’t think 
you’d quit, Stretch.” 

But, at least, he had suspected that Stretch would; 
and the other boy’s answer had thrilled him strangely. 
He knew, now, without semblance of doubt, that 
Stretch was going to come through. The old Hills¬ 
dale spirit was still strong within him. 

154 


THE HONOR SYSTEM 


“I hope,” he said quietly, “that you can beat out 
Jed Krasowski. Somehow, the team wouldn’t be quite 
the same with you on the sidelines.” 

“Thanks!” Stretch said, and his lips shut grimly. 

“The only thing to do,” Bill Barrett declared, “is 
to keep on plugging, and let the coach decide.” 

On Monday morning, however, even Stretch’s prob¬ 
lem paled into insignificance before a new announce¬ 
ment which Coach Merritt made. The older man 
followed the team down to the locker room imme¬ 
diately after classes were dismissed, and when they 
were all dressed, he nodded to them gravely. 

“I haven’t said anything yet about training rules,” 
he began, “but I want it understood, of course, that 
every man on the Hillsdale team must keep in perfect 
condition. None of you smoke, do you?” 

For a moment, no one answered, and then Joe 
Krasowski cleared his throat. 

“I do, once in a while,” he announced bluntly. 
“And so does Jed.” 

Ward Jackson looked up wonderingly, and Coach 
Merritt winced. 

“It’s a bad habit for a young fellow to form,” the 
older man announced casually, “and I want you to 
promise me, Joe, that you’ll cut it out during foot¬ 
ball season.” 

“I promise,” Joe answered without hesitation. 

“How about you, Jed?” 

“I suppose so.” But Jed spoke indifferently, as if 

155 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


the matter were only of slight importance, anyhow; 
and the coach looked at him sharply. 

But Mr. Merritt did not press the subject; instead, 
he turned to the team again, and regarded them 
thoughtfully. 

“Have any of you men heard about the Honor 
System, which is in vogue at a number of colleges?” 
he asked. 

Two or three of them nodded. 

“Yes,” Bill Barrett answered. “They have it at 
Princeton, haven’t they?” 

“It’s been in operation there for a number of 
years. And now”—the coach’s eyes held them— 
“we’re going to adopt it for the Hillsdale football 
team.” 

The players looked up doubtfully, sensing the grav¬ 
ity of the occasion, but not quite understanding. 

“Just what does it mean?” Ward asked. 

“It means,” Mr. Merritt told them, “that every 
man will be on his honor to give his best for the 
team, that he will not cut practice without a legitimate 
excuse, that he will not shirk in his work, either on 
or off the field; and that he will, of course, observe 
strict rules of training.” 

“We’ll all be glad to do that,” Bill Barrett said. 

“Yes,” the coach agreed, “but the Honor System 
is more than an indefinite agreement; it’s a promise 
from every man.” 

“We’ll give it,” Ward assured him. 

156 


THE HONOR SYSTEM 


“I think that you will; but first, you must under¬ 
stand the thing thoroughly. When a team adopts 
the Honor System it means that not only the individual 
members, but also the team as a whole is bound by it. 
And if any single player is false to the pledge he 
has taken, then it is the duty of the other players 
to report him to the coach. Do you understand?” 

They nodded slowly, their eyes thoughtful. 

“Does it mean,” Ward asked, “that if one of us 
sees another fellow smoking, that it’s up to us to 
report him?” 

“Yes,” the coach answered grimly, “that’s what 
it means, Ward.” 

“That’s squealing, isn’t it?” the boy protested. 

“No,” the older man answered quietly. “You 
wouldn’t call it squealing, would you, to report to 
the police a burglar who stole something from your 
house?” 

“No,” Ward admitted. 

“Then the same line of reasoning applies to a 
man who has robbed the team—our team—of its 
honor.” 

Their eyes lighted understanding^ at that. 

“After we have given our pledge to support the 
Honor System,” Bill Barrett declared, “there isn’t a 
man among us, I know, who would be small enough 
to break it.” 

The others nodded in agreement; and impulsively, 

Ward glanced over to where Jed Krasowski was sit- 

157 




JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


ting. Jed was examining his headgear critically, and 
there was the hint of a smile about his lips. 

“I move,” Jim Andrews said, “that the Hillsdale 
football team adopt the Honor System.” 

“Second the motion,” Ned Conrad called. 

The coach held up his hand. 

“All in favor say ‘aye’,” he directed. 

A volume of sound greeted him. 

“Opposed?” 

No one spoke. 

“The Honor System,” the older man announced, 
“has been unanimously adopted. And the vote that 
each of you men has given is your pledge of support. 
Let’s go out now for practice.” 

Gravely, with set lips, they followed Coach Merritt 
out upon the field; and the practice that afternoon 
was the best of the season. 

As yet, the coach had made no effort to select a 
first or a second team; the work had been confined 
exclusively to extensive drills in the fundamentals 
until it seemed to some of the squad as if the season 
itself was going to be an endless round of falling on 
the ball, catching passes, and charging. Once Bill 
Barrett ventured to speak to Mr. Merritt about it. 

“The fellows,” he said, “are beginning to wonder 
if it isn’t time for some scrimmage. The first game 
is only a week off, now, you know.” 

“Yes, I know.” The older man smiled indulgently. 
“The trouble with the majority of the high school 

153 


THE HONOR SYSTEM 


teams, Bill,” he explained, “is that they spend most 
of their time practicing complicated formations when 
what they really need is a thorough drill in the basic 
principles of the game. But we’re going to avoid 
that error at Hillsdale, if we can; and before we have 
a single minute of scrimmage, I want to be satisfied 
that every man on the squad knows how to tackle low 
and hit the line hard.” 

Bill nodded, recognizing the soundness of the 
coach’s reasoning; and the next afternoon he slipped 
down in the basement between classes and posted a 
new motto on the walls of the locker room: 

TACKLE LOW AND HIT THE LINE HARD 
that’s the slogan of the Hillsdale team. 

When the others saw it later in the day, they re¬ 
garded it gravely, but Jed Krasowski grinned openly. 

“What’s the big idea?” he asked. “After a while 
this place will look like a Sunday school room.” 

His brother Joe glanced over at him disapprovingly. 

“Cut out the crabbing!” he snapped. 

Mr. Merritt, entering at that moment, regarded the 
two brothers thoughtfully; and then, as his eyes found 
the newly posted notice, his face became grave. 

“A motto like that,” he said, “is a good thing to 
remember in the game of life as well as on the grid¬ 
iron. The man who tackles low and hits the line 

hard is generally the one who gets there.” 

159 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


Silence greeted his words, and Jed Krasowski 
busied himself with a stubborn shoelace. 

“The schedule,” Mr. Merritt announced, after a 
moment, “has just been approved by the faculty. 
Like to hear it?” 

The team looked up eagerly. 

“Sure!” Ward answered. 

“It goes like this,” the coach told them: 

October 6—Tanwood at home 
October 13—Lincoln at home 
October 20—Milltown at Milltown 
October 27—Jamesburg at home 
November 3—Valley Brook at home 
November 10—Somerset at home 
November 17—Winston at Winston 

“That’s a good schedule,” Jim Andrews announced, 
when the coach had finished speaking. “Only two 
games away from home.” 

“It’s too bad,” Bill declared, “that we have to play 
our last game at Winston. But they came here last 
year, you know.” 

“What difference does it make where we play?” 
Joe Krasowski asked. 

“None, I suppose,” Bill answered. “But Winston’s 
our big rival, and naturally we’d like to have them 
come here.” 

“Why don’t they?” 

“It’s our turn to go to Winston. That’s only fair, 
you know.” 

160 



THE HONOR SYSTEM 


“Humph!” 

“It’s a good schedule,” the coach put in, “and four 
of the games are county championship contests. We 
want to win them if we can.” 

“We’ve got to win them,” Ward told him. 

The older man smiled a bit at his vehemence. 

“Winning or losing, we must play the game,” he 
quoted. Then he turned to the others. “All out, 
men,” he ordered. “Scrimmage this afternoon.” 

They followed him eagerly out of the building, 
curious to find out who would be selected for the first 
team. 

“Let’s go!” Bill Barrett urged them, clapping his 
hands. “How about the line-up, Coach?” 

“On the first team,” Mr. Merritt announced slowly, 
“we’ll put Chubby Bates at center, Mel Chalmers and 
Dave Mullison at guards, Andrews and Fritzinger 
tackles. On the ends, Joe Krasowski and Stretch. 
The quarterback will he Foulds, Barrett and Conrad 
halfbacks, Ward fullback. Run through your signals, 
you men, while I pick out a second team.” 

Eager-eyed, the members of the varsity dug their 
cleats into the yielding turf and dashed out upon the 
field. Ward Jackson, swinging into his old position 
at fullback, found time to glance at Stretch Magens. 
Stretch’s thin face was wreathed in smiles and his 
eyes were shining happily. Over his shoulder, he 
looked at Ward, and winked. 

“Signals!” Doc Foulds called huskily. 

161 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


For almost a half hour, Coach Merritt permitted 
them to run through their formations, while he busied 
himself with the second squad. But finally he called 
the two teams together. 

“I want the varsity to take the ball on the forty- 
yard line and push it over, if they can,” he directed. 
“Let’s see you go.” 

The varsity pushed it over without much difficulty, 
although Jed Krasowski, at right end for the scrubs, 
proved to be a tower of strength on defense. Long 
before the scrimmage was ended, Ward found him¬ 
self regarding Jed with wondering eyes. In his 
heart of hearts, Ward knew that the boy from Winton- 
ville was a better end than Stretch Magens. 

Apparently, the coach thought so, too, for when 
the line-up for the first game with Tanwood was an¬ 
nounced on Friday afternoon, Jed Krasowski was 
listed at right end on the varsity in place of Stretch. 

And Stretch, reading the line-up in the locker room 
following practice, said never a word. 

But Ward Jackson found himself wondering a bit. 
He was disappointed, of course, because Stretch 
would not start the Tanwood game; but as he glanced 
across the room into the triumphant eyes of Jed 
Krasowski, he was conscious of something stronger 
than disappointment. A vague feeling of uneasiness 
crept over him; and he remembered, suddenly, the in¬ 
difference with which Jed had greeted the coach’s sug¬ 
gestion that the team adopt the Honor System. 

162 


THE HONOR SYSTEM 


“Last year, when we played Tanwood,” Jim 
Andrews announced, “they had a right guard who 
was a regular prize fighter.” 

“I remember him,” Bill Barrett said. “He was 
cautioned, once, for rough playing.” 

“He did more than that, though,” Jim continued. 
“During one of the mass formations, he slugged me 
squarely on the jaw.” 

“Supposing he does it to-morrow?” some one 
asked. 

Jim held up for inspection a gnarled fist. 

“See that?” 

Joe Krasowski grinned. 

“Know how to use it?” he asked. 

“You bet I do.” 

Coach Merritt cleared his throat. 

“When I was on the college football team,” he de¬ 
clared evenly, “we had a center who was as hard as 
wire nails and who could hit like Jack Dempsey. He 
was an aggressive fellow, too, and in his freshman 
year he was twice ejected from games because of 
slugging. But he always maintained that he never 
hit a man unless that man hit him first.” 

“Fair enough!” Joe Krasowski said. 

“And after he made the varsity,” the coach con¬ 
tinued, “he was put out of the first game for 
slugging.” 

“Must have been some boy!” 

“But for the remaining three years,” Mr. Merritt 

163 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


concluded, “he played in every contest from whistle 
to whistle.” 

The members of the Hillsdale team regarded the 
Coach thoughtfully. 

“How did that happen?” Bill Barrett asked. 

“It’s a long story,” Mr. Merritt answered. 

“Let’s hear it.” 

Two or three of the boys who had stood up prepara¬ 
tory to leaving sat down again. The older man settled 
himself on one of the wooden benches and clasped 
his hands around his knees. 

“We’ll call him Jack Smith, although that wasn’t 
his real name,” the coach suggested. “He was, as 
you can imagine, a brute of a boy, the product of a 
small high school, who had come to college without 
any idea of the dignity which a college man should 
possess and with no idea whatever of the ethics of 
intercollegiate sport. In his freshman year, he got 
away with a good deal of rough stuff because a lot of 
his team mates were in just about the same boat. 
But when he made the varsity, he stacked up against 
a different proposition.” 

The coach paused for a moment, and two or three 
of the boys in front of him nodded eagerly. 

“Because he was big and strong and really knew 
how to play football,” Mr. Merritt continued, “he was 
given a chance as varsity center in sophomore year. 
The first game was against Brentwood, a small college 
which didn’t have a chance in the world against us. 

164 


THE HONOR SYSTEM 


But as far as Smith was concerned, it might just as 
well have been the most important contest event of the 
year. He went into each scrimmage with eyes blaz¬ 
ing; and after about five minutes of play, a couple of 
us in the backfield saw him draw back his fist and 
strike his opponent squarely in the eye. The referee 
saw it also and sent him to the sidelines without a 
moment’s hesitation. 

“But Smith protested vehemently. 

“ ‘He hit me first,’ he declared angrily. ‘And if 
you think—’ 

“He turned to the rest of us for confirmation, hut 
not a man on the team so much as glanced at him. 
Mumbling, he shuffled off the field. 

“But the head coach was waiting for him. 

“ ‘Smith,’ he announced grimly, ‘go into the field 
house and don’t show your face around here for a 
week.’ 

“ ‘What have I done?’ Smith demanded resentfully. 
‘He—’ 

“ ‘The thing you’ve done,’ the coach told him 
evenly, ‘is to break one of the rules of the college 
Honor System.’ ” 

Mr. Merritt, having finished his story, leaned back 
against the wall and waited. 

Bill Barrett was the first to speak. 

“Do you mean to say,” he asked, “that at college 
the Honor System covers a thing like that?” 

“Yes,” the older man told him, “the Honor Sys- 

165 




JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 

tem requires every member of any team to play the 
game according to the rules. Just as in examinations, 
he wouldn’t cheat, so in football he plays fair and 
square.” 

“I didn’t look at it in quite that way before,” Bill 
admitted. 

“The Honor System,” the older man continued, 
“is one of the finest things that has ever been devised.” 
His eyes shone with enthusiasm. “Down at college it 
embraces almost every act that a student performs. 
He is required on his honor to return borrowed books 
to the library, to hand in his athletic uniforms, to 
write his own essays, to give the real reasons for his 
absence from classes. And as a result, every man in 
college is honest—and every man plays the game.” 

There was a moment of silence before Mr. Merritt 
spoke again. 

“And it’s that very same system that we’ve adopted 
for the Hillsdale football team,” he announced 
quietly. “Our pledge of honor demands that we 
play like gentlemen, and that we require our team 
mates to do likewise. And if any fellow here is false 
to the pledge he has given, then the rest of us are 
expected to hold him to his word. For honor is 
bigger than victory, and the Honor System bigger 
than the team itself .” 

“I see it now,” Bill Barrett said. 

The others nodded gravely, their eyes thoughtful. 

But Jed Krasowski continued to inspect his headgear 

166 


THE HONOR SYSTEM 

—and a faint smile played about the corners of his 
mouth. 

“How about Smith?” Mel Chalmers asked. 

“He remained off the field for a week,” the coach 
answered, “and then reported again. But for another 
ten days, not a fellow on the team spoke a word to 
him; and at the end of that period, the varsity captain 
called him aside and gave him a printed copy of the 
constitution of the Honor System. After that, Smith 
never slugged again.” 

“Great stuff!” Ward declared huskily. 

Jed Krasowski, his face inscrutable, looked over at 
Jim Andrews. 

“What are you going to do,” he demanded, “if that 
Tanwood guard slugs you one to-morrow?” 

“Nothing!” Jim answered evenly. 

The others nodded in eager agreement; but Jed 
Krasowski only smiled. 


CHAPTER XIV 
SMOKING 


A T two o’clock on Saturday afternoon, the Hills¬ 
dale squad reported to Coach Merritt in the 
■ locker room. Ward Jackson, dressing 
slowly, glanced with curious interest at his team mates 
and wondered whether the approaching contest would 
be the harbinger of a winning or a losing season. He 
expected little trouble with Tanwood; the opposing 
school was a small one and its teams had never been 
especially strong. But there were other games to 
come; games which would tax their strength to its 
utmost and test their courage. But whatever hap¬ 
pened, Ward was sure of one thing: winning or los¬ 
ing, they must play the game. The spirit of Hillsdale 
would not permit them to do otherwise. 

Nevertheless, he glanced rather doubtfully at the 
two Krasowski brothers, and at “Fritz” Fritzinger, the 
sturdy lineman who had won a place at right tackle. 
Those men were as yet unknown quantities; good 
football players, to be sure, but untried in the heat 
of battle. Of Fritzinger, Ward had little doubt; the 
new tackle was a stolid boy, slow-moving but power¬ 
ful, and there was no questioning his courage. He 

168 


SMOKING 


played hard and clean, with a grim tenacity of pur¬ 
pose which, somehow, communicated itself to his fel¬ 
lows, inspired them with some of the dogged per¬ 
sistence which was his one outstanding characteristic. 
Fritz, Ward decided, was a good man, the kind they 
wanted on a Hillsdale team. 

Of the Krasowski brothers, however, he was not so 
sure. Joe, he felt, was the stronger of the two, both 
morally and physically. Ward liked the way he had 
adopted the suggestions of the coach, liked the in¬ 
stinctive fighting spirit he had displayed during prac¬ 
tice scrimmage. But with Jed, it was a different 
matter. The younger brother seemed to lack stolidity, 
failed, for some reason or other, to merge his own 
play into the general play of the team. He gave 
Ward the impression of placing his own ends above 
the good of the school. 

Still, the team as a whole gave promise of future 
victories. It was as yet in the early stages of prog¬ 
ress, its formations crudely executed, its teamwork 
undeveloped, hut its fundamentals were sound and its 
fighting spirit unquestioned. 

“And the right kind of spirit,” Ward told himself 
grimly, “will carry us a long ways.” 

When he finished his own dressing, he waited until 
the others were ready. Coach Merritt, his face im¬ 
passive, walked quietly from one player to another, 
adjusting a strap here, giving a brief word of advice 

there. There was something about his quiet presence 

169 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


which instilled confidence more than words could have 
done. And finally, when the last shoulder guard had 
been fitted into place, he gathered the team around 
him. 

“Fellows,” he said, “I don’t think that we’ll have 
any trouble in beating Tanwood. But I want you 
all to do your best, nevertheless, and to play hard 
and clean.” His thin lips parted in a wistful smile. 
“And, winning or losing,” he added, “we must play 
the game.” 

When they dashed out upon the field in the wake 
of Captain Bill Barrett, the Hillsdale rooters rose 
in their places in the north stand and greeted them 
with the long locomotive yell. Ward Jackson, search¬ 
ing the crowd with eager eyes, hunted in vain for 
the Wintonville rooters. 

“Where’s your own crowd?” he asked Jed Krasow- 
ski. 

“They didn’t bother to come up,” Jed told him. 
“It would have cost them something to hire the 
buses.” 

Ward’s face clouded. 

“Pretty poor spirit,” he said. 

“Bunk!” Jed answered, and turned away. 

Throughout the game, the absence of the Winton¬ 
ville students bothered Ward. To his way of think¬ 
ing, it was an affront to the team, an insult to 
Hillsdale. Somehow, the knowledge of their failure 
inspired his own playing; he charged at the Tanwood 

170 


SMOKING 


line with lowered head and straining muscles, tearing 
large holes in the opposing team’s defense, fighting 
his way forward with a ferocity that resulted in a 
brace of touchdowns. 

Between the halves, Bill Barrett looked over at 
him affectionately. 

“Old Ward’s a regular Ted Coy,” he remarked. 
“Nothing can stop him.” 

“In the second half,” Coach Merritt told them, 
“we’re going to make some changes. Magens will 
go in at right end, and Minton at tackle in place of 
Fritzinger.” 

Jed Krasowski glanced up resentfully. 

“What’s the trouble?” he asked. “Haven’t I been 
playing all right?” 

“Yes,” the coach answered quietly, “but we want 
to give some one else a chance.” 

“I notice,” Jed muttered, “that it’s two Wintonville 
men you’re taking out.” 

The older man made no reply, only looked down 
at Jed unwaveringly; but there was something in his 
steady eyes which Jed’s sullen gaze could not meet. 

The talk turned then to details of play; but just 
before the intermission ended, Mr. Merritt turned to 
Jed again. 

“We won’t need you any more to-day,” he said. 
“You might just as well take off your uniform.” 

Jed started to say something in angry protest, 

thought better of it, and nodded moodily. 

171 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“All out!” Bill Barrett snapped. 

Ward noticed, as the game progressed, that Stretch 
Magens was playing beyond himself. Twice during 
the third quarter he snatched forward passes which 
Bill hurled at him, and dashed down the field for 
long gains. He was, Ward admitted, slightly weaker 
than Jed Krasowski on the defense, but his offensive 
work was excellent, the outstanding feature, in fact, 
of the Hillsdale attack. Stretch’s great height was a 
big aid to him in the forward passing game; and be¬ 
fore the final whistle blew, he had covered himself 
with glory. Once the school cheering section gave 
him a special yell, all for himself. 

But when they dressed leisurely in the locker room 
after the contest, Stretch talked impersonally, and 
from the standpoint of the team. Ward wondered 
hopefully if the coach had noticed. After all, it was 
the team that counted. And he wondered, too, if 
Mr. Merritt had not been aware of the absence of 
the Wintonville students. Something, he argued, 
ought to be done about that. 

On Monday morning, however, the principal set 
Ward’s doubts at rest. 

“I would like to have the girls and boys from Win¬ 
tonville remain after assembly,” he announced. “The 
other pupils may go to classes.” 

From his place in the English room across the 
corridor, Ward could hear Mr. Merritt’s quiet voice, 
but the words were indistinguishable. He knew, how- 

172 


SMOKING 


ever, that the principal was talking about school spirit, 
about the unity of the student body, and the danger of 
factions. He wished that he could know exactly what 
was said; but he was forced to content himself with 
his own assurance that the principal was capable of 
handling the situation in the best possible way. When 
the meeting was over and the Wintonville pupils filed 
out of the auditorium, Ward searched their faces 
and found there something which he had not glimpsed 
before. 

Joe Krasowski mentioned the subject before prac¬ 
tice that afternoon. 

“The Coach,” he said, “gave us the razz for not 
having any school spirit. And the Wintonville bunch 
has decided to attend the Lincoln game in a body.” 

“Good!” Bill Barrett told him. “How about the 
buses?” 

“We’re going to chip in and pay for them.” 

Ward smiled, and just when his grin was broadest, 
Jed Krasowski happened to look up. 

“The Coach must have hypnotized them,” he said 
sullenly. “They won’t get any of my money for their 
joy rides.” 

“I’ll pay double,” Joe announced. 

Bill Barrett, walking across the room, laid a care¬ 
less hand on Joe’s muscled shoulder. 

“Good stuff!” he said. “Let’s get out to practice.” 

Ward was curious to see if Stretch Magens would 
be placed at end on the varsity, but there was no 

173 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


scrimmage that afternoon; and when the first team 
lined up for signals, the Coach kept both Joe 
Krasowski and Ward out of the drill, with Stretch at 
one end and Jed at the other. But on Tuesday, when 
scrimmage work was resumed, the Krasowski boys 
were both placed on the varsity, while Stretch paced 
the sidelines moodily. 

At noon the next day, when he had occasion to visit 
the principal’s office, Ward asked the Coach about it. 

“Stretch,” he said, “is pretty much disappointed 
about not making the team. Is he off for good?” 

“No,” Mr. Merritt answered gravely. “All posi¬ 
tions are open, Ward.” 

“But it seems to me,” the boy persisted, “that 
Stretch played a wonderful game on Saturday.” 

“He did, offensively; but his defensive work wasn’t 
up to standard.” The older man hesitated for a 
moment. “Just between you and me, Ward,” he said, 
“I’d like to see Stretch make first-string end. But 
in a way, it will be just as good for him if he doesn’t.” 

“How?” 

“It will temper his character, teach him to take his 
medicine without whining.” 

“He hasn’t whined yet,” Ward declared loyally. 

“And I don’t think he will. And that, Ward, is the 
best part of it all.” 

The boy wasn’t quite sure that he understood all 
that the Coach wanted him to, but at least he sensed 
his meaning. Ward still hoped, though, that Stretch 

174 


SMOKING 


would make the team. He wondered if there was any 
way in which he could help out. 

“How goes it?” he asked Stretch in the locker room 
that afternoon. 

“Pretty good,” the other boy answered casually. 
His brown eyes looked questioningly into Ward’s blue 
ones. “I’m finding it pretty hard,” he said whim¬ 
sically, “to convince the Coach that I’m an All-Amer¬ 
ican football player.” 

Ward wanted to say something, to tell Stretch to 
keep on trying with all that was in him; hut other 
players wandered down to the locker room at that 
moment. 

“I’m with you, Stretch,” he whispered guardedly, 
and went over to his own locker. 

He noticed that Jed Krasowski made no effort to 
change into football togs, but stood idly by the door, 
his hands deep in his trousers pockets. When Mr. 
Merritt came in, Jed turned to him blandly. 

“I’d like to be excused from practice this afternoon, 
Coach,” he said. 

“Why?” 

“A friend of mine down in Wintonville has a boat 
which he wants to bring home from Seagate, and I’d 
like to go with him. It will be all right, won’t 
it?” 

“No,” the Coach answered unexpectedly. “We 
need you on the field to-day, Jed.” 

The boy’s eyes lighted angrily. 

175 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“I don’t see what difference a single afternoon will 
make,” he protested. 

“To every member of the Hillsdale squad,” Mr. 
Merritt announced quietly, “the team must come first 
and other things afterward. We pledged our word 
to that when we adopted the Honor System.” 

“And \ can’t go, then?” 

“No.” 

“And if I do?” 

It was Joe Krasowski who answered. 

“Don’t be a dumb-bell,” he announced caustically. 
“You’re going to stay right here and practice.” 

“Oh, I am, hey?” 

“Yes.” 

The two brothers looked defiantly into each other’s 
eyes, and Jed’s were the first to turn away. 

“I’ll come,” he conceded sullenly. “But it seems 
to me you’re all making a lot of fuss about it.” 

“That’s school spirit,” Ward told him. 

Jed looked up angrily. 

“Bosh!” he said. 

“We’ll be waiting for you outside, Jed,” Coach 
Merritt announced quietly. “All out, men!” 

Just before the varsity players took their positions, 
Ward grinned into the somber eyes of Captain Bill 
Barrett. 

“Joe’s all right,” he whispered. 

“Yes,” Bill answered, “they’ll both come through, 
I guess.” 


176 


SMOKING 


But even as he spoke, his glance rested specula¬ 
tively upon the figure of Stretch Magens, who was 
crouching at the end of the forward line. Later in 
the day, however, Jed replaced Stretch on the varsity. 

As the week advanced, the team began to find 
itself, smoothing off its rough edges, perfecting its 
formations, absorbing more and more of the Coach’s 
patient teachings. Barring accidents, it promised to 
develop into one of the greatest teams that had ever 
represented Hillsdale. 

On Thursday afternoon, Bill Barrett and Ward 
lingered in the locker room after the others had gone. 
The practice that day had been a hard one, with more 
than an hour of scrimmage, and they were both tired. 

“We’ve never been worked like this before,” Ward 
said, stretching luxuriously on one of the wooden 
benches. “But it’s a good thing for all of us.” 

“It sure is,” the other boy agreed. “We ought to 
have a fine chance for the county championship, 
Ward.” 

“Yes, if no one gets hurt.” Ward was silent for a 
moment. “Stretch has been on the sidelines most of 
the time this week,” he said finally. “Fm afraid he 
isn’t going to make it, Bill.” 

“Jed sure does seem to have something on him,” 
the captain agreed. “But Stretch is all right, Ward, 
and the two of us will root hard for him, anyhow.” 

“All the Hillsdale fellows will,” Ward answered. 
“And if—” 


177 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


He looked up and saw Joe Krasowski standing in 
the doorway. Joe’s lists were clenched at his sides, 
and his eyes glowed angrily. 

“I just happened to drop in for a book I’d for¬ 
gotten,” he explained. Then his lips curled. “Wasn’t 
it you that told me,” he asked, looking fairly at Bill 
Barrett, “that every member of the squad would have 
a square chance to make the team?” 

“Yes,” Bill answered, “that’s what I said.” 

“I’m beginning to think,” Joe continued evenly, 
“that that kind of stuff is all bosh. What chance has 
Jed when the captain of the team is trying to give 
his own friend the job?” 

“I didn’t—” Bill began. 

“I just heard you,” Joe interrupted angrily. Sud¬ 
denly, his voice grew huaky and a wave of red crept 
over his usually stolid face. “You lay off on Jed,” 
he warned them. “He’s forgotten more football than 
Magens ever knew.” 

“Oh, I say!” Bill protested. 

But Joe turned and slammed the door after him. 

“He’s got us wrong,” Ward announced, when his 
footsteps had died away down the corridor. “We 
didn’t mean, of course, that Jed wouldn’t get a square 
deal.” 

“I’m sorry this thing’s happened, though,” Bill 
answered worriedly. “They’re brothers, you know; 
and blood is thicker than water.” 

178 


SMOKING 


“We’ll explain to Joe to-morrow,” Ward decided. 
“There isn’t any need to worry about it.” 

“Maybe not,” Bill agreed. 

But even as he spoke, a picture of Joe’s angry eyes 
flashed before him. 

On the next morning, however, Ward had other 
things to think about, and, for the time being, the 
matter slipped his mind. He had, two weeks previous, 
invited both Tony Cuppola and Curly Lockwood to 
visit him at Hillsdale; and although Curly could not 
make it, Tony arrived bright and early. 

Ward, Stretch, and Bill, meeting him at the station, 
greeted him as a long-lost brother. 

“You old boob!” Stretch said affectionately. 
“How goes the battle, anyhow?” 

The beaming Tony looked up with puzzled eyes. 

“What battle?” he asked gravely. 

They guffawed at that, of course, picked up the 
visitor bodily and carried him to Ward’s waiting car. 

“We’re going to show you a real football team this 
afternoon,” Stretch told him. “Know anything about 
the game.” 

“Not much,” Tony answered. “But I would like 
to see it.” 

“And will you yell for Hillsdale?” 

“Of course.” 

“What you ought to do,” Stretch said, “is to live 
out here.” 


179 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“I’d like to,” Tony answered. “But I have friends 
in the city, too.” 

At Ward’s house, they all hurried inside to intro¬ 
duce their guest to Mrs. Jackson. Tony, grinning 
shyly, voiced his pleasure in formal tones; and 
Ward’s mother, smiling at his gravity, made him 
feel at home at once. 

“I want Ward to drive down to Wintonville on an 
errand,” she said. “The rest of you will go along, 
I suppose.” 

But both Stretch and Bill shook their heads. 

“I’ve promised to cut the grass,” Stretch an¬ 
nounced. “But maybe-” 

“No, sir!” Ward broke in. “It’s up to you to keep 
your promise, old Top.” 

“And I’ve got to clean up the cellar,” Bill said. 

“It’s just the two of us then.” Ward turned to 
Tony. “Don’t mind trusting yourself to me, do you?” 

“Not at all,” Tony assured him. 

They started off at ten o’clock for the short trip 
to Wintonville. There was a lot to talk about, and 
they chatted happily, while the engine purred 
smoothly and the big car glided easily over the con¬ 
crete road. 

“At my school,” Tony explained, “there are so 
many people that we do not know each other well. 
We have a football team, but the players are strangers, 
and they do not recognize me when we pass on the 

180 



SMOKING 


street. But we have good school spirit, and we win 
most of our games.” 

“Ever see any of the fellows from Pinetree?” 

“I have visited two or three in the city.” Tony’s 
eyes grew wistful. “I am going to go back next 
year,” he added, “and try to help my camp win the 
swimming meet.” 

Smiling, Ward relapsed into silence. Tony, he 
reflected, was the same loyal, unspoiled boy he had 
been during the summer. It occurred to Ward, sud¬ 
denly, that during the last few months his own con¬ 
tacts had been many and varied. He had met new 
fellows in camp, and now, with the Wintonville stu¬ 
dents at Hillsdale, he was being thrown in contact 
with still another group. First, there was Tony Cup- 
pola, then the Krasowski boys—foreigners, whose 
parents had been born in foreign lands but who were 
bringing up their sons to be Americans. And just as 
Tony, in his quiet, unassuming way, stood for the 
highest ideals of American manhood, so Jed and Joe 
Krasowski, Ward told himself, would finally absorb 
the spirit of fair play which was characteristic of the 
nation of their adoption. 

“We’ve got a couple of fellows in school I’d like 
to have you meet,” he announced. “They-” 

Suddenly he stopped. The machine had reached 
the center of Wintonville, and as Ward turned it into 
the main street, he discovered the figure of Jed Kra- 

181 



JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


sowski standing idly on one corner. And at the sight 
of the other boy Ward’s eyes opened wide. For Jed 
was smoking a cigarette, openly, brazenly, without 
any attempt at concealment. And Jed had pledged 
his honor to abide by the rules of the team. 

“I’ve got to stop here,” Ward said to Tony. “I’ll 
be through, though, in a couple of minutes.” 


CHAPTER XV 
A QUESTION OF HONOR 


W ARD drew his car up to the curb and 
stepped out; and as he did so, Jed Kra- 
sowski plucked the cigarette from his lips, 
and waited. 

“Hello, Jed!” 

The Wintonville boy nodded indifferently. 

“What are you doing down here?” he said. 

“Just happened to be passing through town on an 
errand, and I saw you.” 

“Welcome to Wintonville!” Jed spoke lightly, but 
there was defiance in his voice. 

“You’re smoking,” Ward told him bluntly. 

The other boy regarded his lighted cigarette with 
exaggerated concern. 

“Why, so I am!” he remarked casually. “You’re 
getting to he quite a detective, Jackson.” 

Ward never liked to he called by his last name, 
and Jed’s attitude irritated him beyond measure. 

“You know, don’t you,” he asked, “that it’s against 
the rules?” 

“What rules?” 

“The rules of the football team.” 

183 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“Is it?” Jed inquired arrogantly. “I haven’t 
thought much about it one way or another.” 

Ward’s anger increased. 

“When you voted for the Honor System,” he an¬ 
nounced crisply, “you gave your pledge that you 
wouldn’t break training in any way. Doesn’t your 
word mean anything?” 

“/ didn’t vote for the Honor System,” Jed de¬ 
clared. “Never even opened my mouth either 
way.” 

“But the team adopted it,” Ward argued, “and as 
a member of the team you’re bound by it.” 

Jed smiled unpleasantly. 

“All right,” he said, “supposing we let it go at 
that. What are you going to do about it?” 

To Ward’s honest habit of thought, there was only 
one thing to do. 

“Report you,” he answered. 

Jed’s heavy face clouded. 

“Do you mean to tell me you’d squeal?” he de¬ 
manded. 

“Of course I would. It’s part of the pledge to re¬ 
port any man who—who isn’t honorable enough to 
keep his word.” 

“Piffle!” 

“It isn’t piffle.” Ward’s blue eyes glowed angrily. 
“You’re cheating, Jed,” he declared bluntly. “And 
you’ve got to take your medicine.” 

The other boy flipped his cigarette into the gutter, 

184 


A QUESTION OF HONOR 

thrust his hands into his pockets and faced Ward 
defiantly. 

“Let’s get this thing straight,” he suggested. “You 
came spying around down here and found me smok¬ 
ing. It isn’t going to hurt my football playing, and 
isn’t doing anybody any real harm. But just because 
you took some fool pledge, you’re going to run to the 
Coach like a big kid and squeal on me. Is that it?” 

“No, that isn’t it,” Ward answered quietly. “The 
facts are more like this: You gave your word of 
honor that you wouldn’t smoke; I gave my word that 
I’d report any one I saw smoking. And I’m going 
to keep it.” 

“You won’t dare.” 

“Why?” 

“Because the team needs me on end. By saying 
anything, you’d only hurt the team.” 

Ward hesitated for a moment, and then shook his 
head. 

“No,” he answered finally, “it’s you who are hurt¬ 
ing the team.” 

“And you’re going to squeal?” 

“I’m going to report you, just as I would any one 
who did something dishonest.” 

A slow wave of crimson crept up to the roots of 
Jed Krasowski’s hair, and his lips curled. 

“You make me sick,” he said, “with your line 
about honor and that kind of stuff. You know as 
well as I do that the only reason you’re going to re- 

185 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


port me is that Magens will get my place at end.” 

Ward’s eyes opened wide at that. He had for¬ 
gotten about Stretch. 

“Magens hasn’t anything to do with it,” he declared 
quietly. “I’d do the same thing to him if I caught 
him smoking.” 

“Yes, you would!” 

They stood for a moment, their eyes angry, chal¬ 
lenging. 

“I suppose you’ve considered about Joe and Frit- 
zinger?” Jed asked. 

“What about them?” 

“They won’t stand for it. They’ll quit the team if 
I do. Joe knows already that you and Barrett are 
working for Magens.” 

“Does he know you’re smoking?” Ward asked sud¬ 
denly. 

“No; but even if he did, he wouldn’t say anything.” 

“I’m not so sure about that. Joe’s square.” 

“Meaning that I’m not?” 

“You’ve been breaking training,” Ward answered 
simply. 

“And you’re still going to squeal?” 

“Yes.” 

“Go ahead then.” Jed turned away. “But you’ll 
be sorry,” he added grimly. 

“I’m sorry now,” Ward told him. 

But Jed walked down the street without answering, 
his head held high. Ward, climbing into the car, 

186 


A QUESTION OF HONOR 

smiled uncertainly at the curious Tony, and pro¬ 
ceeded on his errand. His clear eyes were clouded, 
and his heart felt like a lump of lead in his breast. 

On the way home, he thought the matter out. He 
hated to be a squealer; it went against his grain, 
somehow, to report any other man for an infringe¬ 
ment of rules. But he had given his word, had 
pledged his honor. And honor to Ward was a sacred 
thing. 

He knew, without questioning, that the team would 
be behind him in anything that he did. The school, 
too, would understand; at least that part of the school 
which had grasped the real Hillsdale spirit. They 
had already accepted the fundamental truth that to 
play fair in all things was more to be desired than 
victory. Mr. Merritt had taught them that. 

With the Wintonville students, however, it was a 
different matter. They had not been at Hillsdale 
long enough to absorb the spirit of their fellow stu¬ 
dents, and the dropping of Jed Krasowski from the 
team would be bound to arouse bitterness. In that 
case the school would be divided again. Ward asked 
himself anxiously if, after all, the bigger end might 
not be served by keeping still? 

But he could not do that. He had given his word, 
and he would be a quitter if he did not speak. It was 
hard lines, though, just when things were going so 
well. 

Then, too, there was the case of Stretch Magens. 

187 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


Some of the students, those from Wintonville espe¬ 
cially, would accept Jed’s version of things, would 
say that Ward had reported Jed so that Stretch could 
make the team. Joe Krasowski would probably be¬ 
lieve it, might even quit himself and take Fritzinger 
with him. And then the county championship would 
be lost irrevocably. Ward sighed unhappily. Things 
sure were in a mess. 

Tony, who had heard only snatches of the conver¬ 
sation between him and Jed, made no attempt to 
break in upon Ward’s thoughts. Something had hap¬ 
pened, he knew, and he wanted to help if he could; 
but he kept silent until finally Ward drew the car to 
a halt, and led his guest to the shaded porch of his 
home. 

After they had seated themselves on the porch, 
Ward turned to the other boy with questioning eyes. 

“That was Jed Krasowski I was talking to down 
at Wintonville,” he explained. “Jed’s one of the 
best players on the team.” 

“But you were arguing about something.” 

“Yes. Jed was smoking a cigarette, and that’s 
against the rules.” 

“And you told him not to?” 

“I told him I was going to report him.” 

“Why?” Tony asked. 

“Because every man on the squad pledged his 
honor to abide by the rules,” Ward answered. “And 
Jed broke his word.” 


188 


A QUESTION OF HONOR 

“And will it mean that he’ll have to get off?” 

“I think so.” 

“That’s too bad,” Tony said. 

“It’s worse than that,” Ward announced grimly. 
“It’s a tragedy.” 

“Why?” 

“We need him at end.” 

“But haven’t you any substitutes?” 

“One. Stretch Magens.” 

“And—and Stretch will he on the team, then, if 
you report Jed Krasowski?” 

“Yes,” Ward answered, “and the fellows from 
Wintonville will say that I reported Jed just to give 
Stretch his chance.” 

Frowning, Tony relapsed into silence; but after a 
time, he spoke again. 

“Even if they do say that,” he suggested, 
“you can tell them that Jed was unfaithful to his 
trust.” 

“Yes,” Ward answered cynically, “but they might 
not believe that that was my real reason.” 

“If they know you as well as I do,” Tony declared 
gravely, “they couldn’t possibly believe anything 
else.” 

“Thanks, Tony!” Ward stood up and thrust his 
hands deep into his trousers’ pockets. His lips set 
resolutely and his eyes lost their questioning. Some¬ 
how, Tony’s words had showed him that there was 

only one course for him to take. 

189 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“Fm going to report Jed,” he announced slowly, 
“and let the chips fall where they may.” 

He reached the high school building early that 
afternoon, and found Mr. Merritt ahead of him. Into 
the older man’s ears he poured the whole miserable 
tale; and when he had finished, the Coach nodded 
understandingly. 

“It’s too bad, Ward,” he said quietly. “Jed was 
a mighty good end.” 

“And you’re going to drop him?” 

The older man’s jaws clicked. 

“Yes,” he answered shortly. 

“I’m afraid,” Ward declared miserably, “that I’ve 
hurt the team a good deal.” 

“But not nearly so much as if you had kept still.” 
Mr. Merritt’s eyes were kind. “The Honor System, 
Ward,” he said, “is bigger than any man, bigger 
than the team itself. Without honor, victory would 
be a hollow thing.” Suddenly he held out his hand. 
“I’d like to shake on it,” he offered. “You’ve done 
a bigger thing than you realize.” 

“Thanks!” 

The older man turned then and looked thoughtfully 
through the window facing the football field. 

“We’ll simply keep Jed on the sidelines this after¬ 
noon,” he said, after a time. “And when the game’s 
over, we’ll give him a hearing.” 

“It will be better that way,” Ward agreed. 

190 


A QUESTION OF HONOR 

Other players came in, eager-eyed and zestful, un¬ 
mindful of the cloud which hung over them. 

“We ought to be able to beat Lincoln by thirty 
points,” Bill Barrett declared. “They’re no heavier 
than we are, and they haven’t had our coaching.” 

“We can beat them,” Mr. Merritt answered, “but 
only by giving our best.” 

“We’ll do that,” Jim Andrews promised. 

“The same team will start as started in the Tan- 
wood game,” the Coach announced, “with the excep¬ 
tion of Magens at right end in place of Jed Kra- 
sowski.” 

The deposed player, who had dressed sulkily in 
one corner of the room, glanced keenly at Ward 
Jackson, but said nothing. But his brother Joe, look¬ 
ing fairly into Bill Barrett’s puzzled eyes, smiled 
knowingly. 

“I hope you’re satisfied,” he muttered. 

Bill did not answer. He had no idea of the reason 
for the change; Jed, he thought, had done unusually 
well during the past week, and he could not under¬ 
stand. But he accepted the word of the Coach with¬ 
out question. 

When they trotted out upon the field, Ward noticed 
that the Wintonville pupils had kept their promise 
to attend. They did not even sit by themselves, but 
were distributed among the other Hillsdale rooters. 
That, Ward told himself, was as it should be, but he 

191 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


wondered about the next week. With Jed Krasowski 
off, would they still support the team? 

When the game began, however, Ward forgot his 
problem in the thrill of actual combat. As Bill had 
prophesied, Lincoln offered no serious opposition, 
and in the first five minutes Hillsdale marched the 
length of the field for a touchdown. Ward kicked 
goal, and the score was seven to nothing. 

Once more in the initial period, and twice in the 
second quarter, they scored again. Their formations 
worked more smoothly than during the preceding 
game, the men seemed to be finding themselves. 
There were fewer missed tackles, the line played low, 
and the offense worked like a well-oiled machine. 
Ward, plunging exultantly through guard, visioned a 
county championship for the first time in many years. 
Nothing, not even Winston, he told himself, could 
stop them. 

In the locker room between halves, Joe Krasowski 
glanced curiously at the Coach. 

“Jed going in next half?” he asked casually. 

The older man shook his head. 

“The team’s going well as it is,” he answered. 

But twice during the next period, Stretch Magens 
missed easy forward passes when to catch them would 
have meant a touchdown. He was, Ward decided, 
too eager to prove himself, to justify Mr. Merritt’s 
confidence in him. Under other circumstances, 
Stretch would surely have been taken out; but the 

192 


A QUESTION OF HONOR 


game continued, and he remained at right end for 
the varsity. Joe Krasowski, his own play beyond 
criticism, glanced questioningly toward the substi¬ 
tutes’ bench and muttered under his breath. Even 
Bill Barrett wondered why the Coach did not send 
Jed in. But the final whistle blew with Jed still on 
the sidelines. 

The team dressed slowly, happy in the knowledge 
of another well-earned victory. But finally, when two 
or three of the players prepared to leave the room. 
Coach Merritt held up his hand. 

“I have something to say to you,” he announced 
quietly. “One of our men has broken the rules of 
training.” 

The members of the squad looked up in stunned 
amazement, and Captain Bill Barrett cleared his 
throat nervously. 

“Who?” he asked. 

“Jed.” 

Joe Krasowski turned angry eyes to his brother. 

“Did you?” he demanded. 

“I smoked,” Jed answered defiantly, “but I don’t 
see anything so awful about it.” 

“How did you hear?” Bill asked. 

Mr. Merritt told the facts briefly, sparing no one. 

“Now that Jed’s acknowledged it,” he said, “it’s 
up to the team to fix the punishment.” 

They were silent for a moment; then Jim Andrews 
spoke. 


193 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“Drop him,” he suggested bluntly. 

Jed’s lips framed themselves in angry protest, but 
his brother’s clear gaze silenced him. 

“It seems the only thing to do,” Mr. Merritt said 
slowly. “The success of the Honor System lies in the 
balance.” 

“I so move,” Mel Chalmers offered. 

“Second the motion.” 

The older man turned to Bill Barrett. 

“Will you call the roll, Captain?” he asked for¬ 
mally. 

Each of the players voted “yes” until Magens’ 
name was called. 

“I’d rather not vote,” Stretch declared. 

They respected his attitude and passed on. 

“Joe Krasowski?” 

“Yes,” Joe answered. 

“Fritzinger?” 

“Yes.” 

Ward drew a sigh of infinite relief. The Winton- 
ville players had come through. 

He hardly listened to the remainder of the roll-call; 
but when the last name had been read, Coach Merritt 
turned gravely to the squad. 

“By the vote of his team mates,” he announced, 
“Jed Krasowski has been dropped from the Hillsdale 
squad. This afternoon, Jed, we will expect you to 
hand in your uniform.” 

“You can have your old suit,” Jed declared an- 

194 


A QUESTION OF HONOR 

grily, his fists clenched at his sides. “But I’m through 
—through with the whole bunch of you.” 

Drawing on his coat, he stamped indignantly out 
of the room. When he had gone, Joe Krasowski 
turned unexpectedly to Ward. 

“I’m sticking to the team,” he said grimly, “be¬ 
cause I gave my word. But I have my own personal 
opinion of a dirty squealer, and some time, Jackson, 
I’m going to get back at you for what you’ve done.” 

“That will do,” Mr. Merritt put in sharply. 

“It goes,” Joe answered. 

After a moment of tense silence, he followed his 
brother out of the locker room. 


CHAPTER XVI 
PLAYING THE GAME 


t I AHE attitude of Joe Krasowski was entirely 

1 outside of Ward Jackson’s understanding. 

“He voted to drop Jed from the team,” 
Ward told Bill Barrett wonderingly. “And then, 
after admitting that I’m right, he threatens to get 
back at me.” 

“It sure is funny,” Bill agreed. “I guess he 
thought that it was wrong for Jed to smoke, but that 
you were also wrong in reporting him. His mind’s 
twisted, somehow.” 

“Joe’s a good scout,” Ward admitted generously. 
“But he’s stubborn, and it takes him a long time to 
think things out. Maybe he’ll come around after a 
while.” 

“There isn’t anything he can do to you, though.” 

Ward dismissed the possibility with a gesture. 

“It isn’t that that’s worrying me,” he said. “It’s 
the team.” 

“The team will come thorugh all right,” Bill as¬ 
serted confidently. 

“And the school?” Ward asked. 

Bill hadn’t thought of that. 

196 



PLAYING THE GAME 


“We’ll have to wait and see,” he answered finally. 

The school, it developed on Monday morning, 
took sides at once, as Ward had feared. The Hills¬ 
dale pupils, knowing Ward Jackson and his rugged 
honesty, accepted the verdict of the team without 
question. Jed Krasowski had promised not to smoke, 
had broken his promise, and had been dropped from 
the squad. That was all there was to it. 

But the girls and boys from Wintonville looked at 
the matter in a different light. Joe Krasowski had 
remained moodily silent, but Jed had told them his 
side of the question, had insinuated that he had been 
dropped simply to make room for Stretch Magens. 
It was a general conspiracy, he contended, to make 
the team a distinctly Hillsdale affair, and he would 
not be at all surprised if both Joe and Fritzinger 
were eventually relegated to the sidelines. Natu¬ 
rally, his friends resented the implied discrimination, 
and declared openly that in the future they would 
stick by themselves. Hillsdale had never meant any¬ 
thing to them, anyhow. 

Wisely, Mr. Merritt let the matter drift for a few 
days, until the edge of the bitterness had worn away. 
But on Friday afternoon, he announced that the en¬ 
tire last period would be turned over to the student 
body for a mass meeting; and at two-thirty they all 
filed into the auditorium to sing and cheer for the 
football team. 

The principal himself led the cheering, injecting 

197 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 

into each succeeding yell some of his own stanch 
spirit, breaking through the studied indifference of 
the Wintonville pupils by the very strength of his 
personality. Gradually, their lukewarm attitude 
underwent a change, until finally, when the entire 
school stood up and sang “Old Hillsdale High,” even 
Joe Krasowski added his own husky voice to the 
volume of sound. 

Just before they went away, Mr. Merritt mentioned 
the Milltown game. 

“It’s our first big test of the season,” he said 
quietly, “and the school should be in back of us. 
We will take the one-twenty train from Hillsdale, and 
I would like to see a record crowd of rooters accom¬ 
pany the team. Our loyalty, I know, will not fail us.” 

He did not ask for a rising vote of confidence, did 
not exact any promise of support; but as the students 
filed out of the auditorium, Ward Jackson knew by 
the light in their eyes that the team would have its 
full quota of followers. 

The effect of the meeting was apparent among the 
players themselves on the field that afternoon. Even 
Joe Krasowski came out of his shell and displayed a 
bit of his former enthusiasm. Since Jed had been 
dropped, Joe had attended practice regularly, had 
merged his play into that of the team and had done 
everything expected of him. But he had been mood¬ 
ily silent, speaking only when necessary, and never 
so much as acknowledging by word or act the pres- 

198 ' 


PLAYING THE GAME 


ence of Ward Jackson. The others he treated with a 
sort of cold reserve, but Ward he ignored entirely. 

Just before the varsity lined up for signal drill on 
Friday, Ward found himself standing beside the other 
boy. Impulsively he turned and looked directly into 
Joe’s sullen eyes. 

“Joe, old scout,” he said frankly, “why not forget 
it, and be friends again?” 

But his team mate, apparently not seeing the out¬ 
stretched hand, only stared back blankly. 

“Fd rather not be friends with a squealer,” he an¬ 
swered shortly. 

Ward turned away, not because he was afraid of 
Joe, but because he knew that a personal clash could 
do nothing but hurt the team. 

But in spite of Joe’s hostility, the practice went 
smoothly; and the next afternoon, when the squad 
started for Milltown in five hired cars, they had every 
hope of winning. But the game was the first contest 
away from home and the hardest they had yet faced; 
and they knew they must be at their best to win. 
Ward hoped that the school would be present in large 
numbers. 

They dressed in a barren barn near the Milltown 
field, two or three of them showing an inclination to 
grumble over the unattractiveness of their surround¬ 
ings. 

“What do they think we are, a lot of horses?” Joe 
Krasowski asked. 


199 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“They’ll think that, maybe, when we start running 
through them,” Jim Andrews answered easily. “Es¬ 
pecially, Ward; he’s a regular old truck horse.” 

Joe, frowning, relapsed into silence, while the 
others chatted nervously in a futile attempt to make 
believe they were not nervous. When finally they 
reached the field, however, they were mostly them¬ 
selves again, eager to match their own strength 
against that of the Milltown eleven. 

A roar from the visiting stand greeted them, and 
as the varsity swept by in a brief signal drill, Ward 
glanced curiously at the shifting mass of his school¬ 
mates. Here and there he saw a boy or a girl from 
Wintonville; not so very many, to be sure, but enough 
to convince him that the mass meeting on Friday 
afternoon had not been without results. Grinning 
happily, he hugged the ball in muscled arms and 
charged exultantly into an imaginary line. The crisis, 
he felt, had passed; in another month the spirit of 
Hillsdale would absorb the Wintonville group into 
itself. 

When the whistle blew, Ward caught the kick-off 
joyfully and plowed straight down the center of the 
field for a clean fifty yards. On the second play, he 
tossed a long forward pass to Joe Krasowski, and 
Joe dashed over the line for a touchdown. It was 
easier than even the most ardent Hillsdale supporter 
had hoped for, and the stands roared their approval. 
Milltown, dazed by the unexpectedness of the score, 

200 


PLAYING THE GAME 


elected to receive; and their quarterback, over-anx¬ 
ious, fumbled the ball. Joe Krasowski, scooping it 
from the ground, dodged two grasping tacklers and 
wormed bis way twenty yards for another six points. 
Ward kicked the goal, and the score stood fourteen 
to nothing in the first three minutes of play. 

But after that, Milltown settled down, and the game 
resolved itself into a grueling battle between two 
teams of approximately equal strength. Hillsdale, 
safely in the lead, played purely on the defensive for 
the remainder of the period, calling for a punt on 
the first down, conserving their strength and waiting 
patiently for a break which might give them another 
chance to strike. But no break came; the teams 
fought evenly through the first quarter and through 
the second. But when the whistle blew for the inter¬ 
mission, the Hillsdale players had the ball on the 
twenty-yard line and another touchdown was immi¬ 
nent. 

In the middle of the third period, however, some¬ 
thing happened which changed completely the aspect 
of the game. Stretch Magens, catching a forward 
pass, wheeled and started down the field. The Mill- 
town fullback crashed into him and bore him to the 
ground. When Stretch tried to get up again, his leg 
gave way under him and he sank down in a huddled 
heap. 

“Time!” Bill called. 

Coach Merritt, with the consent of the referee, ran 

201 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 

out upon the field, examined Stretch’s ankle with 
skilled fingers. 

“A sprain,” he announced crisply. “He’s 
through.” 

Ward and big Jim Andrews carried Stretch, pro¬ 
testing, to the sidelines; and “Midget” Cairns, first- 
string substitute, went in. But Midget, they all knew, 
was only a mediocre player at best; and the Milltown 
quarterback, trying him out, found that they were 
able to skirt his end for steady gains. Their attack 
swung to the right, swept Midget aside and continued 
sweepingly until Ward Jackson or another of the 
secondary defense halted them. But gradually, 
Hillsdale fell back, until when the last quarter started, 
the goalposts loomed over them. But Milltown, not 
to be denied, smashed between tackle and end for the 
required distance; and on the next play, her fullback 
dove over the last white line for a touchdown. 

Hillsdale, however, made it a point to keep pos¬ 
session of the ball for the remainder of the game, 
satisfied to keep the home team from scoring. And 
when, after a seemingly endless interval, the 
whistle blew signifying the end of the game, they 
sighed in infinite relief and were glad to call it a 
day. 

But they knew that if Stretch Magens could not get 
back again for the coming games, their chances of a 
county championship were poor indeed. For Hills¬ 
dale was a small school, with few capable substitutes; 

202 


PLAYING THE GAME 


and already Midget Cairns had proved himself un¬ 
equal to the test. 

They found Stretch lying on his back upon a splin¬ 
tered bench in the dressing room. 

“How goes it?” Bill asked anxiously. 

“A doctor’s been here,” Stretch answered. “Says 
maybe I’ll be back again in a couple of weeks.” 

“You’ll have to get back,” Bill told him. “We 
almost lost out there, after you left.” 

But it was evident, after a few days, that Stretch 
would be in no condition to play against Jamesburg 
on die following Saturday. The only ray of hope in 
the whole situation lay in the fact that Jamesburg 
was not a county school and that the result would 
have no bearing whatever on the championship. 

“Probably,” Bill Barrett said, when Stretch limped 
down to the locker room on Thursday afternoon, 
“you’ll be able to get in the Valley Brook game for 
a little while. But even if you don’t, you’ll surely 
be right again by the time we meet Winston.” 

But Ned Conrad, whose father was a doctor, shook 
his head doubtfully. 

“You can’t tell about a sprain,” he declared. “It’s 
just possible that Stretch will be out for the rest of 
the season.” 

Joe Krasowski, listening quietly from his place at 
one end of the room, said nothing; but his eyes were 
thoughtful, and after a time he nodded grimly, as if 
he had just made an important decision. On Friday, 

203 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 

when the varsity players were preparing for signal 
drill, Joe brought his brother Jed down to the locker 
room with him. 

The others looked up curiously, with just a touch 
of apprehension, and Coach Merritt nodded im¬ 
passively. 

“Jed’s got a suggestion to make about the game 
to-morrow,” Joe announced. “He’s ready to go in at 
end if you want him to.” 

Captain Bill Barrett glanced questioningly at the 
Coach, but the older man was silent. 

“Jed’s been dropped from the team,” Bill answered 
finally. 

“But I’m willing to call it quits, if you fellows 
are,” Jed put in eagerly. 

Bill wished that Mr. Merritt would say something, 
but evidently the older man had decided to let the 
team captain solve the problem himself. Bill smiled 
uncertainly, wondering what he ought to do. There 
was no denying the fact that the team needed Jed; 
Midget Cairns had shown little improvement, and his 
position was the one vulnerable spot in the Hillsdale 
defense. If Midget played against Jamesburg and 
the visiting quarterback discovered his weakness, 
there was no telling what might happen. Bill cher¬ 
ished a secret ambition to lead his team through a 
season of successive victories; and he felt, if Jed 

Krasowski came back again, that that ambition could 

204 


PLAYING THE GAME 


be realized. But Jed had given his pledge to obey the 
rules, and had then broken his word. 

Bill cleared his throat huskily, and glanced ap¬ 
pealingly at Ward Jackson. But Ward kept still. 

“If you’re willing to apologize for what you did,” 
the captain said finally, “and promise to support the 
Honor System for the rest of the season, we might 
consider it.” 

“I’m not promising anything,” Jed answered sul¬ 
lenly, “but I’m willing to help out if you want me to.” 

“And you won’t apologize?” 

“What good would that do?” Jed’s eyes were de¬ 
fiant. “You know as well as any of us,” he continued, 
“that with Cairns at right end, Jamesburg is likely 
to beat us. I’m offering as a Hillsdale man to save 
Hillsdale from defeat. If that doesn’t mean more 
to you than a lot of fool rules and promises, then 
you deserve to be beaten.” 

Suddenly, Bill’s hesitation left him. 

“There are worse things than being beaten,” he 
said quietly. “And we’re going to stick to our rules.” 

“You mean, then, that you won’t let me play?” 

“That’s what I mean.” 

Jed’s deep-set eyes glowed somberly. He waited 
indecisively for a moment before his lips curled con¬ 
temptuously. 

“I’ve given you your chance,” he said shortly. 
“Now I’m through—for good.” 

When he had gone tramping down the corridor, 

205 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


the other players stirred restlessly and resumed their 
dressing. Coach Merritt, turning to the worried cap¬ 
tain, laid a casual hand on the boy’s shoulder. 

“You’re right, Bill,” he said quietly, “there are 
worse things than being beaten. And one of them is 
the losing of our self-respect.” 

Joe Krasowski looked over at him wonderingly, 
his heavy face puzzled. But no one mentioned the 
incident again. 

Nevertheless, they found it hard the next day to 
watch the powerful Jamesburg eleven sweep around 
the right end of their line for long and consistent 
gains. Somewhere in the stands, they knew, Jed 
Krasowski was watching; hut the knowledge only 
served to make them play the harder. Their best, 
however, proved to be not quite good enough. With 
either Stretch or Jed in the line-up, they would have 
won; but, although the tearful Midget Cairns gave 
all that he had, the handicap was too big for them to 
overcome, and they went down to honorable defeat 
by the score of 13 to 6. 

In the locker room after the game, however, they 
made no excuses, dressing quietly, with occasional 
comments upon certain details of play. It was hard 
to lose, of course, doubly hard in view of the cir¬ 
cumstances; but no one complained. 

“There are three more games,” Bill Barrett said 
once, “and Stretch will be back next week.” 

The others, nodding grimly, drew on their over- 

206 


PLAYING THE GAME 


coats and left the room, singly or in small groups. 
Ward, waiting until they had gone, found a sheet of 
paper in his locker, and using one of the benches as 
a prop, carefully traced out another motto to be added 
to the one already on the wall. Smiling wistfully, 
he tacked it up and stepped back to gauge its effect. 
Somehow, the sight of it gave him renewed courage: 


WINNING OR LOSING, WE MUST PLAY 

THE GAME 


CHAPTER XVII 
SPIRIT 


HE school accepted defeat according to the 
code Mr. Merritt had taught them; and, 
strangely, even the Wintonville pupils had 
little to say. Jed Krasowski had attempted to make 
capital out of the Jamesburg game, but he had been 
seen smoking openly in front of the building before 
morning assembly; and whatever effect his words 
might have had was counterbalanced by the brief 
speech which the school principal made in the audi¬ 
torium. 

It was a speech which had to do with the relative 
value of an honorable defeat and a questionable vic¬ 
tory; and in conclusion, Mr. Merritt quoted the new 
motto about playing the game, which had been re¬ 
cently posted in the locker room. They sang “Old 
Hillsdale High” before filing out to classes, and 
Ward noticed that even Joe Krasowski joined lustily 
in the swelling chorus. 

He was frankly puzzled about Joe. The star end, 
in spite of his reticence, fought hard for the team; 
a grim figure on the gridiron, efficient, tireless, alert. 
He shared with Ward the pinnacle of stardom; and 

in spite of Joe’s personal animosity, they worked 

208 


SPIRIT 


together well. Ward told himself stanchly, even in 
the face of discouraging conditions, that sooner or 
later, Joe would come around. Men could not fight 
together as they were doing without mutual respect. 

He was not worried greatly about Joe’s promise 
to “get back at him.” Ward felt fully able to take 
care of himself; his sturdy body was well-knit, his 
muscles hard. His only concern was that possibly 
Joe, in order to settle his personal score, might 
somehow injure the team. 

There was nothing he could do, however, except 
await developments. Stretch Magens’ limp had gone, 
and every afternoon he reported for practice, fol¬ 
lowing the team in its scrimmage work, mastering the 
new formations. The squad settled down deter¬ 
minedly to wipe out the Jamesburg defeat; under the 
able direction of Coach Merritt, they ran eagerly 
through long signal drills, specializing in the open 
game, with their most effective play a double forward 
pass, Jackson to Krasowski. Their early training in 
the fundamentals left them free to center their atten¬ 
tion upon the finer points of the game; there was a 
fascination about the practice sessions which swept 
away all hint of monotony. 

In order to strengthen the team’s one vulnerable 
spot, Ward was shifted to defensive end, Chubby 
Betts drawn back to play roving center. The new 
combination worked well, and the spasmodic gains of 

the second team came to a sudden stop. 

209 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


We’ll try out the new line-up against Valley 
Brook,” the Coach declared on Friday afternoon. 
“They don’t seem to be especially strong, and the 
longer we keep Stretch out, the better he will be 
for the Winston game.” 

The new combination worked even better than they 
expected. Valley Brook proved to be heavy but slow, 
and their plunging backs could make little impression 
on the Hillsdale line. When they turned to the ends, 
Ward Jackson and Joe Krasowski forced them back 
with ludicrous ease, until their quarterback, sensing 
the futility of further attempts at wide runs, resorted 
to the open game. But here, too, Hillsdale frustrated 
their most desperate efforts. Time after time, Doc 
Foulds caught soaring punts from the visiting full¬ 
back, squirmed precious yards through clutch¬ 
ing arms, and set his own offensive machine in 
crashing sorties down the field. The score, when 
the final whistle blew, was 34 to 0 in favor of 
Hillsdale. 

Prospects for the county championship brightened 
considerably after that. Of the five games already 
played, Hillsdale had won four, and only an accident 
had deprived them of the fifth. It was the greatest 
season that the school had enjoyed in many years; 
and the fact that two Wintonville boys, Joe Krasow¬ 
ski and Fritzinger, were doing their full share toward 
each victory served to close the rift which had once 
threatened to divide the school, to mold into greater 

210 


SPIRIT 

strength that unity of purpose which is the basis of 
all school spirit. 

On the Tuesday following the Valley Brook game, 
the entire Wintonville group arranged for their buses 
to arrive an hour later than usual and marched with 
the other students for cheering practice on the field. 
And not once in the hour that followed did they give 
other than the Hillsdale cheers. Ward knew then 
that gradually, although perhaps unconsciously, they 
had absorbed the spirit of Hillsdale. 

Remembering his own cynical attitude at the be¬ 
ginning of the term, he was conscious of an increasing 
sense of shame at the things he had said and thought. 
The Wintonville crowd, he told himself, even though 
they did not wear stiff collars and silk shirts, were 
just as stanchly loyal as any of the original Hillsdale 
group. Ward was glad that they had come; contact 
with them, he felt, was a fine thing for himself and 
his schoolmates. He remembered suddenly what Mr. 
Merritt had said: “It isn’t a man’s clothes, but the 
stuff he has in him, that counts.” 

After practice that day, the team lingered in the 
locker room, although Joe Krasowski and the other 
Wintonville players were forced to leave early in 
order to catch their trolley home. 

“We’ll have to hand it to those fellows,” Jim An¬ 
drews said after they had left. “Only two of them 
have a chance for their letters, but the other ten come 
here every day just to work on the scrubs.” 

211 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 

“That,” Mr. Merritt told them, “is the highest type 
of school spirit. It isn’t any fun to take a beating 
every day, and stick at it.” 

“We ought to give a dinner to the scrubs at the end 
of the season,” Ward suggested. 

“It’s the least we can do,” Jim agreed. 

“I think,” the Coach remarked, after a pause, 
“that we’ll give Stretch a chance against Somerset. 
His leg seems to be strong enough now.” 

“It’s as good as ever,” Stretch declared eagerly. 
“And I sure would like to play again.” 

“With Stretch in,” the team captain ventured, “we 
ought to beat Somerset without much trouble.” 

They nodded eagerly. 

“And after that,” Ward said, “the big game with 
Winston!” 

On Saturday, Bill’s prophecy proved to be correct. 
Somerset came to Hillsdale with a large crowd of 
rooters who evidently had unbounded confidence in 
their team. But the smoothness and power of the 
Hillsdale attack was more than the visiting eleven 
had counted upon; and although they gave ground 
grudgingly, three times they stood in the shadow of 
the goalposts and watched helplessly while Ward 
Jackson plunged through the center of their line for 
the touchdowns which meant victory. Then, with the 
Somerset game safely tucked away, the Hillsdale 
team turned its attention to the Winston game. 

Tension settled upon the team and, to slightly less 

212 


SPIRIT 


degree, upon the school. The weather turned cold; 
and on Monday, snow fell, making outside practice 
impracticable. But the Coach called the squad to¬ 
gether in the locker room, where he gave them a 
blackboard talk, explaining in detail the formations 
to be used against Winston, pointing out the exact 
position of every man in every play. Darkness set¬ 
tled over the building, but still the Coach talked. 
Some one snapped on the light, Fritz Fritzinger stirred 
restlessly in his place, and the Coach’s voice droned 
on. When finally he stopped, Ward glanced at his 
watch and noticed with surprise that it was almost 
six o’clock. 

Outside, the snow continued, whipped against the 
window panes by a rising wind. Joe Krasowski, 
drawing on his overcoat without comment, prepared 
to leave. 

“Probably,” Bill Barrett told him, “the trolleys 
aren’t running. You oughtn’t to go home to-night, 
Joe.” 

“Have to sleep somewhere,” the other boy mum¬ 
bled. 

“I’d be glad,” Ward put in unexpectedly, “to 
have you come home with me. We’ve got plenty of 
room.” 

The others waited curiously, while Joe’s suspicious 
glance searched Ward Jackson’s face. 

“It would be better for you to stay in Hillsdale,” 
Mr. Merritt urged. 


213 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 

But Joe, after a moment of hesitation, shook his 
head. 

“Sony,” he said, speaking directly to Ward, “but 
I can’t accept any invitation from you.” 

The other boy colored, but said nothing; and Mr. 
Merritt, speaking authoritatively, broke the rather 
awkward silence which followed. 

“Fritz can go home with Ward,” he announced, 
“and I’ll take Joe along with me.” At Joe’s swiftly 
worded protest, he held up his hand. “It would be 
foolhardy to try to reach Wintonville in this storm,” 
he said shortly. “Come on!” 

The storm lashed against them as they emerged 
from the building, but they leaned their bodies sturd¬ 
ily to the wind and plowed through three inches of 
unmarked snow. 

“If this keeps up,” Fritzinger panted, “we’ll all 
have to use snowshoes on Saturday.” 

The prospect worried Ward, as it did the other 
members of the team. Throughout the evening, while 
the two boys studied the next day’s lessons before a 
roaring grate fire, the storm continued; and when 
they awoke on Tuesday morning, a blanket of snow 
met their inquiring gaze. 

“Unless it rains or melts pretty quick,” Ward said, 
“it looks as if the game will be off, Fritz.” 

But the other boy refused to be discouraged. 

“There are four days yet,” he answered. “And 
almost anything might happen by then.” 

214 


SPIRIT 


But Mr. Merritt, evidently, was not satisfied with 
waiting for things to happen. 

“I have just been looking at the football field,” 
he announced at morning assembly, “and it is cov¬ 
ered with about five inches of snow. But the team 
needs practice, and it needs a victory on Saturday; 
so this afternoon, the football squad is going to 
turn into a snow shoveling gang, and we’re going 
to do our level best to clear the snow from the 
gridiron.” 

He smiled into their wondering eyes, and some one 
started to clap. When the applause had died down, 
the principal spoke again. 

“If any member of the school wants to help,” he 
continued, “we’d be glad to have him. All boys who 
care to join the shoveling gang this afternoon are 
requested to bring shovels with them when they return 
from lunch. Classes, of course, will be held as usual 
throughout the day.” 

He raised his hand for dismissal, but suddenly 
Fred Burchan, one of the Wintonville boys, stood 
up in his place. 

“If any of the fellows have two shovels,” he an¬ 
nounced, “I wish they would bring them to school. 
Probably some of the Wintonville crowd would like 
to help. It’s our team, too, you know.” 

In the volume of applause which greeted the an¬ 
nouncement, Ward Jackson pounded his hands to¬ 
gether until his palms hurt. 

215 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 

“Some spirit!” he said wonderingly. “Some 
spirit!” 

At three o’clock that afternoon, one hundred and 
four boys, eight of them from Wintonville, joined the 
team on the Hillsdale Oval. And two hours later, 
the gridiron lay hare to the slanting rays of the set¬ 
ting sun. 

“That,” Mr. Merritt said, when the job was fin¬ 
ished, “is the best afternoon’s work the school has 
ever done.” 

“And in the face of such spirit,” Bill Barrett an¬ 
swered, “the team can’t do anything else but win on 
Saturday.” 

They waited around for a few minutes; and then, 
because it was growing late, they walked slowly 
toward the two entrances to the field. In one group 
were Ward Jackson, Bill Barrett and others of the 
boys who lived in the uptown section of Hillsdale; 
in the other group the fellows from Wintonville and 
the Hillsdale students who lived downtown, across the 
railroad tracks. 

“It looks now—” Ward began. 

But he did not finish his sentence, for a snowball, 
skillfully thrown, landed with a loud smack on the 
back of his head and trickled beneath the collar of 
his sweater. Wheeling, Ward discovered Jim An¬ 
drews, twenty yards or so away, grinning challeng- 
ingly. 

“Some shot!” Stretch Magens remarked. 

216 


SPIRIT 


Stooping down, Ward scooped a handful of snow 
from the ground, and returned Jim’s compliment. A 
moment later, the Great Snow Fight, destined to take 
its place among Hillsdale’s most cherished traditions, 
was in full swing. 

The two sides were almost equally divided; and the 
fifty or more boys at each end of the field proceeded 
to engage in joyous battle at long range. Joe Kra- 
sowski, slightly in advance of the Downtowners, as¬ 
sumed at once the position of leadership; and be¬ 
cause Joe could throw with the speed of a bullet, the 
others were content to accept him as their captain. 

Ward, gathering his own forces about him, out¬ 
lined a plan of campaign. 

“We’ll drop back gradually,” he said, “until we 
come to the big pile of snow on the running track. 
Then the smaller fellows can supply us with ammuni¬ 
tion, and the rest of us can do the shooting. Let’s 
go!” 

At the first sign of retreat on the part of the Up¬ 
town section, Joe Krasowski ordered a charge; but so 
accurate was the aim of Ward and his followers that 
Joe could make no appreciable advance; and after a 
few minutes of desperate battling, he ordered a halt. 
Stretch Magens, reveling in the conflict, called out 
jestingly: 

“Come ahead! Don’t let us keep you.” 

“We’re coming, all right!” Joe answered. 

But for a long half hour nothing happened, except 

217 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


an occasional sortie on the part of the Downtowners 
and a brief but desperate battle of two small groups 
near the goalposts. 

“It looks very much,” Ward said to Bill, “as if 
we’ll all have to stay here till dark, and we won’t 
accomplish anything at that.” 

“How about a truce?” Bill suggested. 

“It will have to come from them first.” 

At one side of the field, Stretch Magens was en¬ 
gaged in personal contest with a dozen or more of 
the smaller boys of the opposing side. For some 
reason or other, they had picked Stretch out as their 
particular target, and Stretch had accepted the chal¬ 
lenge. He whipped snowballs across the intervening 
space with machinelike precision, scoring hit after 
hit; but he was outnumbered so heavily that he was 
able only to hold his own. 

Meanwhile the two main armies continued their 
battle at long range. Ward, holding his place on top 
of a massive heap of snow, directed operations in his 
most military manner; Bill Barrett and the others 
rallied around him loyally, and the fight waged on, 
with much laughter on either side and no trace of 
bitterness. But in spite of their best efforts, the affair 
promised to draw out interminably. 

Ward, glancing at his watch, found that it was 
after six o’clock. 

“What we’ve got to do,” he said to Bill Barrett, 
“is to make a charge ourselves. Tell each fellow to 

218 


SPIRIT 


stack up with ammunition and be ready to advance.” 

Nodding, Bill passed the word down the line; and 
when all was in readiness, Ward led his cohorts in a 
desperate charge. The Downtowners, taken by sur¬ 
prise, fell back slowly; and it looked for a moment 
as if they were going to be forced to admit defeat. 
But with their backs to the running track, Joe Kra- 
sowski rallied them; and although he could not regain 
the ground he had lost, he was able to halt the charge. 
Then, their positions reversed, both sides awaited 
further developments. 

Stretch Magens, resuming his interrupted fight with 
the younger boys, concentrated on the task at hand 
and left the strategy to Ward. The Downtowners, 
well stocked with ammunition, began to send a rain 
of snowballs at their unprotected opponents. But 
neither side would give way an inch. 

Long shadows, the harbinger of approaching dark¬ 
ness, settled across the field. 

“Time for supper,” Mel Chalmers grumbled. 
“How long is this thing going to keep up, anyhow.” 

As if in answer to his question, Joe Krasowski, 
who had been consulting with some of his followers, 
mounted a snowbank and waved a white hand¬ 
kerchief in token of a truce. Ward, accompanied 
by Bill Barrett and Stretch, went forward for 
conference. 

“What’s the idea?” he asked. “Do you fellows 
surrender?” 


219 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“Not so you’d notice it,” Joe answered grimly. 
“But we’ve got a suggestion to make.” 

The others, ignoring the rules of warfare, crowded 
around the two leaders. 

“What is it?” Ward inquired. 

“We’ll probably stay here all night if we keep this 
up,” Joe explained. “And in order to settle the issue, 
I challenge you to a wrestling match.” 

Ward looked up doubtfully. He wasn’t particu¬ 
larly anxious to meet Joe Krasowski in personal con¬ 
test; and yet he knew that the challenge could not he 
ignored. It was fair enough; they were of equal 
weight and neither was a skillful wrestler. 

“If I beat you,” Joe continued, “my side wins; if 
you throw me, then your crowd are the winners. Are 
you game to try it?” 

“Yes,” Ward answered evenly, “I’m game.” 

“How about a referee?” 

In the brief silence which followed, Mr. Merritt, 
who had been in the school building doing some work 
of his own, strolled across the field. 

“I wonder if he’ll act?” Joe asked. 

The older man, after the circumstances had been 
explained, consented to officiate. 

“The first fall wins,” he announced, “and if after 
fifteen minutes neither man has been thrown, then 
I’ll make the decision. You fellows willing?” 

“Yes, sir,” they both answered. 

While Joe and Ward pulled off their mackinaws, 

220 


SPIRIT 


the other waited eagerly. It was to be only a friendly 
bout, of course; and yet, there was hardly a boy 
present who did not know of Joe’s promise to “get 
back.” 

“This is the chance he’s been waiting for ever since 
Jed was kicked off the team,” Stretch whispered to 
Bill Barrett. “I hope Ward can beat him.” 

“It will be pretty even, I imagine,” Bill answered. 

The two wrestlers, at the word of command from 
Mr. Merritt, circled slowly, watchful for an opening. 
They were both unskilled in the technique of the 
sport; but they were strong, in perfect condition, and 
apparently evenly matched. 

Ward, tense and alert, waited for Joe Krasowski 
to make the first move. As far as he himself was 
concerned, he would rather have settled the snow 
fight in some other way; but now that he had accepted 
the challenge he had no intention of giving anything 
but his best. 

“The thing to do,” he thought, “is to get a good 
grip just as soon as I can and try to finish the bout 
right away.” 

Joe, however, had no intention of permitting him 
to secure a grip of any kind. So they continued to 
circle warily, until suddenly Joe leaped forward. 
Ward met him with outstretched hands; they swayed 
for a moment and then tumbled over in a heap, with 
Joe on top. 

“That’s the boy, Joe!” some one called. 

221 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 

Flat on his chest, Ward felt the hands of his op¬ 
ponent slip beneath his neck. 

“He’s trying to get a full Nelson,” Ward reflected. 
“It’s up to me to start something.” 

But the weight of Joe’s husky body bore down upon 
him, Joe’s muscled arms held him in a viselike grip; 
and almost before he realized what had happened, he 
found himself being forced over on his side. 

He exerted all his strength against the pressure, 
digging his feet into the hard ground, trying des¬ 
perately to break the clutch of Joe’s muscled fingers 
around his neck. But in spite of his efforts, he found 
himself powerless, his struggles in vain. 

“You’ve got him now, Joe!” 

It occurred to Ward, as he fought futilely to keep 
face downward, that by permitting Joe to win the 
wrestling match, he might possibly heal the breach 
that had sprung up between them. Joe might then 
consider his debt paid, and be willing to forget. 

Just for an instant, Ward considered the advisa¬ 
bility of admitting defeat without further struggle. 
His eyes were starting from their sockets, the cords 
of his neck stood out sharply. Defeat seemed in¬ 
evitable. 

“It really won’t be quitting,” he told himself. “I’m 
almost through, anyhow. And if I should let Joe 
win, then perhaps the team-” 

But Stretch Magens’ anxious voice broke in upon 
his thoughts. 


222 



SPIRIT 


“Fight, Ward!” Stretch urged pleadingly. “Break 
that grip, old man!” 

Somehow, the knowledge that Stretch, and a good 
many of the other fellows, were rooting for him to 
win, were expecting him to win, banished from 
Ward’s mind all recognition of defeat. He had gone 
into this thing with the idea of winning; he was, in a 
way, upholding the honor of his side—of the Up- 
towners. To admit defeat before defeat was a reality 
would be poor sportsmanship, would not be playing 
the game. 

The pressure of Joe’s arms continued. Ward was 
almost on his back now, one shoulder touching, the 
other a bare two inches from the ground. Mr. Mer¬ 
ritt was kneeling down, watching for both shoulders 
to touch. 

“It’s all over,” Jim Andrews said. 

Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, Ward heaved 
his body upward with all his strength. Joe Krasow- 
ski, counting victory already won, was caught unpre¬ 
pared. His grip loosened momentarily, and in that 
brief instant of respite. Ward heaved upward again, 
and Joe tumbled to one side. 

Without a moment’s hesitation Ward was upon him. 
His hands locked beneath Joe’s chin, slipped around 
to the back of his neck. Joe’s mouth opened, and his 
face grew red with the strain. 

“Hooray!” Stretch called. “You’ve got him now, 
old man.” 


223 



JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


Slowly but surely, Joe’s shoulders approached the 
ground. Mr. Merritt bent down again, keenly alert. 
One shoulder touched. The other was forced down¬ 
ward, slowly but irresistibly. Joe’s eyes seemed to 
pop from their sockets; he strained upward in an 
agony of effort. 

Then, his other shoulder touched. 

“Down!” Mr. Merritt announced. 

The two boys climbed to their feet, their chests 
heaving. Stretch Magens pounded Ward upon the 
back, and beamed into his glowing eyes. 

“You win, old man!” 

Joe Krasowski waited for a moment, his own eyes 
somber. Then, unexpectedly, he stepped forward 
and held out his hand. 

“Congratulations!” he said. “I thought I had you, 
but you fooled me.” 

“It was luck,” Ward told him. 

There was a moment of silence. Joe stood inde¬ 
cisively, as if he wanted to say something and did 
not know how to say it. Then, suddenly, he turned 
without further word and started toward the gate. 

The others followed, but Ward waited where he 
was. Finally, he too turned and fell into step beside 
Bill Barrett. 

“Joe’s all right,” he said huskily. “He knows how 
to take defeat without whining about it.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 
IN THE FACE OF ODDS 

W ARD found himself wondering on the way 
to school the next morning just how the 
snow fight and its resultant wrestling 
match would affect Joe Krasowski. Ward was glad 
that he had won, of course; and yet, he was just a 
hit doubtful of the wisdom of submitting Joe to the 
humiliation of defeat. 

“It’s just possible,” he said to Bill Barrett, “that 
Joe will be so peeved about the thing that he won’t 
want to work with me on Saturday. And in that case, 
we might just as well hand the game to Winston right 
now.” 

But Bill disagreed. 

“It was Joe who suggested the wrestling match,” 
he answered. “And if he got beaten, he has no one 
but himself to blame. He didn’t expect you to let 
him win, did he?” 

“I don’t imagine so.” 

“And he was man enough to congratulate you at 
the end,” Bill continued. “I don’t think you have 
any need to worry about Joe.” 

The Wintonville crowd had already reached the 
school when Ward and Bill arrived. The Krasowski 

225 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


boys, together with a number of the football squad, 
were sitting on the front steps of the building; and 
although there was the hint of a sneer on Jed’s lips, 
Joe nodded easily and without apparent bitterness. 

“If it keeps up as cold as this,” Jim Andrews re¬ 
marked, “probably Winston will want to cancel the 
game.” 

“We won’t let them,” Bill answered. 

But his eyes were dubious. He was plainly wor¬ 
ried about the unseasonable weather; it was more like 
January than November, and if the Winston coach 
decided to call off the contest, he would be well within 
his rights. 

“We might substitute some coasting and skating 
races,” Mel Chalmers suggested dryly. 

“Nope!” Bill said. “It’s football or nothing.” 

The loud ringing of the school bell summoned them 
to classes, and they filed slowly inside the building. 
In the corridor, Mr. Merritt greeted them smilingly. 

“Practice this afternoon,” he announced. 

There could be no scrimmage, of course, on ac¬ 
count of the frozen condition of the gridiron; but the 
first team ran through signal drill for a solid hour, 
perfecting their formations and spending the greater 
part of the time in the development of an open style 
of play. 

“Our best chance to win,” Mr. Merritt explained, 
“is by means of forward passes. Winston will out¬ 
weigh us and will try to score mainly through line 

226 


IN THE FACE OF ODDS 


plunges. We’ll have to depend chiefly on Ward and 
Joe. How’s it going, you fellows?” 

“All right,” Ward answered. 

But Joe only nodded grimly, his face impassive. 

Ward, watching him, was conscious of growing 
doubt. Joe had been surly for so long now that the 
team was accustomed to his moodiness; but there was 
just a chance that Joe, in some crisis, might permit 
his anger to get the better of him and do something 
which would injure the chances of victory. And in 
that case- 

Ward’s lips shut grimly, and during a halt in prac¬ 
tice he walked over to where Joe Krasowski was 
standing. 

“How are you feeling after the big battle?” he 
asked pleasantly. 

Joe looked up almost resentfully. 

“You mean our little scrap yesterday?” 

“Yes.” 

“I guess I’ll get over it all right.” 

“No hard feelings, is there?” 

The semblance of a smile played about the other 
boy’s lips. 

“No,” he answered shortly. 

At a word from Coach Merritt, they shifted into 
kick formation, and the practice continued. 

They expected at any time to hear from the rival 
school; and on Wednesday afternoon the Winston 
manager appeared unexpectedly in the locker room, 

227 



JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


just as the Hillsdale team was about to go out for 
practice. 

“Down home,” he said, in reply to Bill Barrett’s 
eager question, “the football field is covered with 
snow. I don’t see how we can possibly play on Sat¬ 
urday.” 

Bill grinned into his somber eyes. 

“Come over to the window,” he suggested, “and 
I’ll show you something.” 

At the sight of the cleared field, with high mounds 
of snow piled upon the running track, the visitor’s 
jaw dropped in frank amazement. 

“What do you know about that?” he asked. “How 
in the world did you get it done?” 

“The school did it,” Bill told him proudly. “And 
the field’s there, if you care to play on Saturday.” 

But the Winston manager shook his head doubt¬ 
fully. 

“I’ll have to go home,” he said, “and ask the coach 
about it.” 

“Will you let us know to-morrow?” 

“Yes.” 

“If you decide to play,” Bill told him, “we’ll have 
the stands shoveled off even cleaner than the field.” 

At nine o’clock the next morning, Winston tele¬ 
phoned that they would be glad to play the game on 
the Hillsdale Oval. 

Mr. Merritt, announcing their decision, called for 
volunteers to help clear the stands. 

228 


IN THE FACE OF ODDS 


“Now that we’ve started this thing,” he announced, 
“it lies with us to finish it. How many of you will 
volunteer to do some more work on the field?” 

Every boy in the school stood up, Jed Krasowski 
included; and the principal nodded in satisfaction. 

“Whether we win or lose,” he said, “we at least 
have the finest school spirit in the county. And in 
many ways that is more to be desired than victory.” 

But it would take more than spirit, they knew, to 
win the game with Winston. The rival team had had 
the best season in its history; its players were expe¬ 
rienced, heavy, and slightly older than their oppo¬ 
nents. Moreover, their splendid record had given 
them a confidence which would not admit even the 
possibility of defeat. 

Ward Jackson, shoveling crusted snow from the 
wooden stands, weighed the chances of Hillsdale in 
the coming contest and decided that the game would 
be a grueling battle, with weight and experience on 
one side, and skill and spirit on the other. 

“One single break may mean victory or defeat,” 
he told himself. “But if we fight hard enough, there 
won’t be any stopping us.” 

On the tier above him, Joe Krasowski worked 
silently, with grim concentration on the task at hand. 
Other fellows, to whom the coming contest was, after 
all, nothing more than a football game, shoveled 
leisurely, stopping occasionally to swing gloved hands 
across their chests, commenting audibly about the 

229 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 

weather, joking with one another, looking upon the 
whole affair in the nature of a picnic. 

“If you fellows don’t win after all the work we’ve 
done,” one of them said to Bill Barrett, “we’ll greet 
you with a chorus of hisses on Monday morning.” 

“You needn’t worry about us winning,” Bill an¬ 
swered easily. “That’s already been decided.” 

By five o’clock, the stands had been scraped clean; 
and the workers, led by Bill Barrett, formed five 
abreast on the running track and marched triumph¬ 
antly around the field. At the main entrance, the 
cheer leader called for a yell, and they gave it in 
thunderous volume: 

Rah, rah, rah! 

Rah, rah, rah! 

HILLSDALE! 

Team, team, team! 

“Great stuff!” Bill declared. “Last practice to¬ 
morrow, men, and then—the game.” 

An atmosphere of tense excitement, of eager ex¬ 
pectancy, hovered over the school on Friday morning. 
The members of the team did their best in classes, 
but they made rather a poor job of it. Even Ward, 
generally a good student, found his mind wandering; 
and in Senior English, he could not for the life of 
him remember who had written “We Are Seven.” 
He was immensely relieved when, at two-thirty, they 
filed into the auditorium for general assembly. 

The spirit of the school had never been quite so 

230 



IN THE FACE OF ODDS 


strong as on that afternoon. There was no reason to 
urge them to cheer, for they gave each succeeding 
yell with unstinted enthusiasm; and when Bill Bar¬ 
rett spoke, predicting victory, they all stood up in 
their places and sang the Alma Mater song—“Dear 
Old Hillsdale.” 

When they had finished, Mr. Merritt made a brief 
address, warning them against overconfidence, paying 
tribute to the Winston team, suggesting that defeat, 
so long as they had done their best, was in no way 
a tragedy. 

“But whether we win or whether we lose,” he con¬ 
cluded, “this thing I know: Every boy and every girl 
in school will be behind the team, our loyalty un¬ 
questioned, our faith unshaken. And the team itself 
will be in the game from the first whistle until the 
last.” 

Only the varsity was required to report at the field; 
and while the scrubs stood on the sideline and watched 
critically, the first-string players ran briefly through 
formations. Shortly after four o’clock, Mr. Merritt 
called a halt. 

“That ends the work for the year,” he said, “except, 
of course, the game itself. I have taught you all that 
I know, and you have worked hard and absorbed 
most of the teachings. Whatever happens to-morrow 
will depend upon yourselves, upon your ability to 
stand the gaff and come through in the face of your 
biggest test.” He paused for a moment and smiled 

231 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


into their somber eyes. “And now, fellows,” he sug¬ 
gested, “how about a long yell for the scrubs?” 

They took their time in dressing; it was early yet 
and there was no need to hurry. 

“Winston, I understand,” Jim Andrews remarked, 
“has been practicing in a cleared space in front of 
the school. But we’ve had a whole field to work on, 
and we’ve got an advantage there.” 

“If it keeps as cold as this,” Joe Krasowski said, 
“we’ll run rings around them. They haven’t much 
of a defense for the open game.” 

“Unless,” Mel Chalmers put in, “we freeze to death 
before the game begins.” 

“Dog-gone this weather, anyhow!” 

“We’ll report here at the school at one-thirty,” Mr. 
Merritt announced. “And remember, I want every 
man here on time.” 

“You can count on us,” Joe told him. 

Ward Jackson found some of his doubts fading. 
Whatever else might be said of Joe Krasowski, there 
had as yet been no reason to question his loyalty to 
the team. 

“If only he’d drop his grouch against me,” Ward 
told himself, “everything would be fine.” 

But Joe left a few minutes later, with only a brief 
nod to the others; and Ward, glancing through the 
window, noticed that Jed joined him outside the 
building. 

“Let’s get on,” Bill Barrett suggested. 

232 


IN THE FACE OF ODDS 

They went to the “movies” in the evening, the team 
meeting at Ward’s house and walking downtown in 
a body. Before the picture began, some one pro¬ 
duced a copy of the Hillsdale Record and read aloud 
a story about the game. 

“It looks like a toss-up,” the sporting editor had 
written, “with a slight advantage for Hillsdale. In 
Joe Krasowski and Ward Jackson the local school has 
two players of exceptional ability. A good deal will 
depend upon the way they work together to-morrow.” 

There was more to the story; but Ward did not 
listen. Always, it seemed, he and Joe Krasowski 
were bracketed together. But Joe had promised to 
“get back at him,” to pay him, in some way or other, 
for the imaginary wrong which had been done his 
brother. 

“Now, more than ever, we ought to be friends,” 
Ward reflected. “But we’re not, and—and I wonder 
how it’s going to come out, after all.” 

When they left the theater, they found that the 
weather had unexpectedly turned warm. The sky 
was overcast, and there was a hint of rain in the 
air. 

“What do you know about that?” Bill Barrett said 
disgustedly. “Supposing it should rain to-morrow?” 

“We’ll play that football game,” Mel Chalmers 
told him, “if we have to do it in a cyclone.” 

But it was rather a discouraged team which tum¬ 
bled into bed that night; and on Saturday morning, 

233 



JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


as soon as lie awoke, Ward rushed over to the window 
and looked out. 

Fortunately, the clouds were gone, but a real thaw 
had set in, and the gutters were heavy with melting 
snow. Bill Barrett, dropping around after breakfast, 
shook his head dubiously. 

“Here goes the old ball game,” he said. “The 
field will be like a duck pond.” 

“Even if it is,” Ward answered, “we can play the 
game.” 

“Yes, but the advantage will he all with Winston. 
Our speed won’t do any good in the mud, and their 
weight will help them out a whole lot.” 

But Ward refused to be discouraged. 

“If we can’t win by forward passing,” he said, 
“we’ll beat them at their own game.” 

Later, when Stretch Magens joined them, they 
walked out to the field, where their worst fears were 
realized. The gridiron was already a mass of mud, 
wholly unsuited to an open style of play. Shallow 
pools of water collected near the running track, the 
wooden stands were wet, even the newly marked 
chalk-lines were soggy and gray. 

“We sure are out of luck,” Stretch announced un¬ 
happily. “Just when everything was going so well, 
too.” 

Mr. Merritt, who had seen them through a window 
of his office in the school, joined them and smiled 
into their somber faces. 


234 


IN THE FACE OF ODDS 

“More like baseball weather than anything else,” 
he said. 

“It’s going to make it hard for us,” Bill told him. 

“Yes.” The Coach spoke quietly. “We’ll be 
under a big handicap.” 

“We might just as well hand Winston the game on 
a platter,” Stretch grumbled. 

“No, not that.” The older man regarded them 
steadily. “It would have been much better for us,” 
he continued, “if the ground had remained hard. But 
this team of ours, I think, is the kind that fights all the 
harder against odds—and I want you to show me this 
afternoon that I’m right.” 

There was something in the way he spoke which 
caused the three boys before him to forget their dis¬ 
couragement, which imbued them with new courage. 

Ward Jackson’s eyes glittered. 

“We’ll show you,” he answered steadily. “We’re 
going to win this game to-day or know the reason 
why.” 

“You bet we are,” Bill agreed. 

After Mr. Merritt had left them, they wandered 
downtown to the Y. M. C. A., where they found Mel 
Chalmers and some of the other players. 

“This sure is the eel’s eyebrows,” Mel said. “The 
field must look like a lake.” 

“Worse than that,” Ward told him. “We’ve just 
been up to look at it.” 

“It means we’re through, I guess.” 

235 



JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“Not on your life.” Bill spoke seriously. “We 
had a word with Mr. Merritt, and he said that he 
expected the team to fight all the harder against odds.” 

“We’ll fight all right.” Mel turned suddenly to the 
others. “What about it, fellows,” he asked, “are we 
going to win, or aren’t we?” 

“We are ,” Doc Foulds, the quarterback, answered. 

“Let’s stop our grouching then,” Bill suggested. 
“And we’ll show them this afternoon that it takes 
more than mud to beat a real football team.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


JOE’S TO-MORROW 

I N the locker room they dressed slowly, a sense of 
responsibility heavy upon them. Through the 
open windows they could see the high board 
fence surrounding the field, could glimpse the crowd 
of spectators at the main entrance, the long line of 
cars parked in front of the school. 

“The whole town’s turning out,” Jim Andrews de¬ 
clared, “and Winston’s brought a big delegation of 
their own. It’s going to be some game, I’ll tell the 
universe.” 

“Well, the county championship’s at stake,” Bill 
Barrett answered. His eyes grew wistful. “We sure 
do want that pennant for Hillsdale.” 

“And we’re going to get it,” Ward added. 

They had recovered in a great measure their con¬ 
fidence. The mud-soaked field would, of course, be 
a big handicap; but they were natural fighters, and 
Mr. Merritt’s calm acceptance of conditions had 
steadied them, had changed dismay and discourage¬ 
ment into renewed determination. 

They expected him to make rather a long speech, 

but he said only a few words, reminding them of 

237 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


their obligation to the school, urging upon them the 
will to win. And when he had finished, Bill Barrett 
turned to his team with flashing eyes. 

“Let’s go!” he said. 

As they dashed out upon the chalk-marked field, 
the Hillsdale rooters leaped to their feet and gave 
them the “long locomotive.” The stands were filled 
to overflowing, and a double line of spectators 
crowded along the ropes at each end of the gridiron. 
Even the wet stands and the heavy, mud-choked field 
could not dampen their enthusiasm; they came with 
cushions, and newspapers, and heavy coats, and 
waited with tense expectancy for the whistle to blow. 

Ward Jackson dug his leather cleats into the cling¬ 
ing turf and followed the interference in a sweeping 
dash outside of tackle. The thrill of the impending 
contest gripped him like a live thing; it was the last 
game that he would ever play for Hillsdale, and he 
wanted to win. The unfavorable conditions under 
which the game would be played only served to 
strengthen his determination, to fan the spark of his 
instinctive fighting spirit into glowing flame. He was 
eager for action, impatient of delay. 

“Let’s get started,” he said; and, while Bill Barrett 
conferred with the Winston captain in the center of 
the field, he paced restlessly up and down the side¬ 
lines, his hands clenched at his sides, his knees trem¬ 
bling unaccountably. But after the whistle had 
blown, he knew that the trembling would stop. 

238 


JOE’S TO-MORROW 


“Oh, you Ward!” some one called. 

They lined up finally, Hillsdale in position to re¬ 
ceive the kick-off. The whistle shrilled, and the 
curving ball dropped into the waiting arms of Bill 
Barrett. A visiting end crashed into him, halting him 
on the thirty-yard line. The stands roared. 

Doc Foulds snapped out his signals. 

“Six, eighteen, twenty-one!” 

It was Ward through guard, and as the teams 
sprang into motion the fullback plunged forward, 
every muscle taut. Mel Chalmers opened a hole for 
him, and he followed the big lineman for a clean 
eight yards before the secondary defense stopped 
him. 

“Hold that line!” some one rasped. “Watch 
Jackson!” 

Grinning, Ward climbed to his feet. His knees 
were already wet, one arm caked its entire length 
with mud. 

“Signals!” 

Ned Conrad was halted without a gain; but on the 
next play Ward made it a first down. A cheer 
sounded from the Hillsdale stands, with his own name 
at the end; and he thrilled at the sound of it. The 
school was behind them, he told himself; they must 
not fail. 

But they gained only three yards on the next two 
rushes; and, although on the third down Ward knifed 

his way through tackle for a five-yard adv ance, Doc 

239 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


Foulds decided to kick. It was too early in the game 
to wear his backfield out by futile rushes. 

Ward, dropping back, knocked the mud from his 
cleats and held out his hands. The ball curved into 
them straight and true, he took a single step forward 
and sent a soaring punt booming down the field. 
When the Winston quarterback caught it, Joe Kra- 
sowski was waiting. It was the visitors’ ball on their 
own thirty-yard line. 

The Hillsdale defense drew together in compact 
formation, their knees resting on the soggy earth, 
their eyes watchful. 

“Hold them!” Ward called. “Low on the line, 
men.” 

Jim Andrews stopped the ensuing play for a two- 
yard loss, but the heavy Winston backs only muttered 
harshly and sprang into a shift formation. On the 
next play they swept around end, brushed Stretch 
Magens aside, eluded Ward’s desperate tackle and 
dashed down the field, with only Doc Foulds between 
them and a touchdown. 

The single interferer remaining threw himself be¬ 
fore the crouching Hillsdale quarterback, the man 
with the ball swerved and dodged clear of Doc’s 
clutching fingers. Free, he sprinted ahead for a cer¬ 
tain score. But on the two-yard line, Joe Krasowski 
crashed him to earth in a diving tackle. 

“Fight, fight, fight!” the Hillsdale stands yelled 
entreatingly. 


240 


JOE’S TO-MORROW 


Ward, his face streaked with grime, brought down 
his hand resoundingly upon the broad back of Chubby 
Betts. 

“In there, you men!” he rasped. “Stop them! 
Push them back!” 

In the shadow of their goal posts, the Hillsdale 
team fought like so many tigers. But a plunge 
through guard gained a precious two feet, a thrust 
outside of tackle earned another yard. It was third 
down, with the ball a scant four feet from the line. 

“Hold them! Hold them!” Bill Barrett implored. 

When the mass of players were untangled a mo¬ 
ment later, the hall lay six inches from the goal. It 
was fourth down. The stands roared, and Winston 
settled herself for the final thrust. 

The lines met, strained and pushed. The referee 
leaped into the heap of struggling players, dug for the 
ball and found it—a single inch over the cleat-torn 
chalk-mark. 

“Touchdown!” he thundered; and pandemonium 
reigned in the Winston stands. 

Joe Krasowski, tears of helpless anger in his eyes, 
leaned against the goal posts, his hand on Ward 
Jackson’s shoulder. 

“We’ll get them,” he grated sobbingly. “The 
game’s young yet.” 

“We’ve got to,” Ward answered, his own eyes 
gleaming. 

Strangely, even in that moment of gripping tension, 

241 



JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


his mind turned, not to the tragedy which had just 
enveloped them, but to the boy beside him. He and 
Joe were fighting shoulder to shoulder in the one big 
cause, were playing together with the same end in 
view, the same gripping purpose. They were not 
enemies, Ward told himself wonderingly; in their 
heart of hearts they could not be anything but friends. 
Soldiers in the same cause—comrades! 

“Block that kick, Joe,” he urged eagerly. “Block 
that kick!” 

They lined up five yards from the goal. Ward 
slightly behind the crouching figures of his center 
trio. At the snap of the ball, Chubby Betts charged 
close to the ground, his broad back offering a foot¬ 
hold. Ward, dashing forward, using the Hillsdale 
center as a step, leaped clearly over the Winston de¬ 
fense, and landed on his feet before the kicker. The 
ascending ball struck him fairly in the chest and 
bounded to one side. 

“Good work!” some one rasped; and a hand fell 
heavily upon his shoulder. Turning, Ward found 
Joe Krasowski beside him. Their eyes met and held 
in a look of sudden understanding. Comrades! 

“We’ll receive,” Bill Barrett told the referee. 

But the first period ended without further scoring, 
and throughout the second quarter the teams battled 
evenly. The ball became a mud-caked spheroid, slip¬ 
pery, elusive. Once, with but a minute to play, Joe 
Krasowski missed a forward pass which might have 

242 



JOE’S TO-MORROW 


resulted in a touchdown, but no one blamed him. 
They had never played in such a sea of mud before. 

Finally, the half ended, and the glaring letters on 
the scoreboard remained unchanged: Winston 6, 
Hillsdale 0. 

They changed into clean jerseys during the inter¬ 
mission, while Coach Merritt walked quietly from one 
player to another, sponging the mud from their wet 
faces, offering an occasional suggestion, commending 
them on their fighting spirit. 

“We’ve already passed the crisis,” he said, when 
they were ready to go out again. “Nine out of ten 
teams would have gone to pieces after that one touch¬ 
down, but you men only fought the harder. That is 
the spirit that wins—and win we must.” His keen 
eyes rested upon the mottoes posted on the wall. 
“Tackle low, and hit the line hard,” he concluded. 
“And fight, men—for Hillsdale!” 

Their reappearance was the signal for a long, 
booming cheer from the Hillsdale stands; a cheer of 
confidence, of loyalty, and of undaunted courage. 
And as the sound struck into his straining ears, Ward 
Jackson knew that the same cheer would rise again 
with undiminished strength at the end of the contest. 
It would make no difference whether they won or lost. 
But they ivere not going to lose . 

The soggy ball lessened their effectiveness, how¬ 
ever, made useless the open style of play which had 

been their biggest asset. Time and again during the 

243 



JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


third quarter, they sprang into open formation, but 
the mud-caked ball eluded the grasping fingers of 
their ends; the mud clung to their shoes and robbed 
them of their speed. The period ended with no 
further scoring. 

In the brief conference during intermission, Ward 
assumed leadership of the team. 

“Our open play isn’t working,” he announced 
grimly, “and we’ve got to beat Winston at her own 
game. Let’s hit their line, and hit it hard.” 

It was Hillsdale’s ball near the center of the field, 
for after that one disastrous sweep around end, Win¬ 
ston had been unable to gain. On the first play, Ward 
plunged through center for five yards; they gave him 
the ball again, and he duplicated his feat. And in 
the ensuing five minutes, he forgot the roaring stands, 
forgot the mud which reached for him with gripping 
tentacles, forgot everything except that Winston was 
ahead, the grim necessity of fighting his way forward 
for the touchdown which might mean the victory. 

“Give me the ball!” he rasped. “Give me the 
ball!” 

Toward the end of the long march, queer lights 
danced before his shining eyes, his shoulder hurt, 
and his mind was a chaos of conflicting thoughts. 
But through it all one thing stood out clearly—some¬ 
how, whatever the effort, he must reach that last white 
line. 

They gave the ball once to Bill Barrett, but Bill 

244 


JOE’S TO-MORROW 


failed to gain and Ward turned to the Hillsdale quar¬ 
terback almost ferociously. 

“Give it to me!” he snapped. 

When he arose from the next play, he staggered 
drunkenly, but out of the corner of his eye he saw 
the linesmen move forward and he knew he had made 
another first down. 

“Keep it up!” Jim Andrews muttered. “We’ve 
only got five yards to go.” 

Ward made it in a single rush, plunging forward 
with a power that would not he denied, ripping his 
way clear of reaching arms, his lips parted, his head 
lowered like a charging bull. He did not know that 
he had made a touchdown until he stumbled against 
Bill Barrett and glimpsed the glory of it in the cap¬ 
tain’s shining face. 

A minute later, his mind clearing momentarily, 
Ward kicked the goal. The figures on the scoreboard 
changed: Winston 6, Hillsdale 7. 

Joe Krasowski hugged him bearlike, with muscular 
arms. 

“Six minutes left,” some one announced. 

Six minutes! Winston, electing to receive the kick¬ 
off, fumbled the ball on the second down, and Joe 
Krasowski and a visiting end leaped forward. But 
Joe was first; he grasped the pigskin with clinging 
arms and held on grimly. The Winston player, un¬ 
able to stop his momentum, crashed down upon Joe. 
The whistle blew. 


245 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“Hillsdale’s ball!” 

Joe Krasowski climbed to bis feet dazedly, stag¬ 
gered a step or two, and then tumbled in a heap upon 
the ground. 

“Time out!” some one rasped. 

Mr. Merritt ran across the field, bent over Joe and 
chafed his wrists with experienced hands. 

“Water!” 

The Coach wiped the grime from Joe’s face, per¬ 
mitting some of the water to trickle down his neck. 
Joe sat up, glimpsed the anxious faces around him, 
and climbed to his feet. 

“I’m all right now,” he announced. 

Mr. Merritt regarded him dubiously; and .after a 
moment of hesitation, walked back to the sidelines. 
The whistle blew. It was Hillsdale’s ball on Win¬ 
ston’s ten-yard line. 

There was no stopping them then. 

“Right through for another touchdown!” Bill Bar¬ 
rett rasped. 

Twice in succession Ward Jackson plunged into 
the center of the opposing line; and each time the 
Winston forwards fell back as if a battering ram had 
struck them. With four yards to go on the third 
down, Doc Foulds gave the ball to Ward again; and 
when finally the struggling, mud-soaked heap of 
almost unrecognizable players was . unraveled, the 
referee threw his hands high above his head. 

“Touchdown!” 


246 


JOE’S TO-MORROW 


Thirty seconds later, Hillsdale added another point 
to the score. They led now, 14 to 6; there was less 
than five minutes to play, and only a miracle could 
rob them of victory. 

Joyfully the Hillsdale players leaped to their 
places for the kick-off. Of all the team, Joe Krasow- 
ski alone seemed unaffected by the glory of those last 
two touchdowns. His face impassive, he walked 
slowly to his position at the end of the line, and 
waited indifferently. 

“In the game, Joe, old man!” Bill Barrett called. 

Turning, Joe gazed blankly at the Hillsdale cap¬ 
tain, and nodded dazedly. 

“That knock on the head has stunned him,” Bill 
muttered. “I wonder-” 

But the whistle blew just then, and Bill, at the first 
impact of Ward’s boot against the pigskin, dashed 
desperately down the field. Mel Chalmers made the 
tackle, and the whistle blew. It was Winston’s ball 
on her own thirty-yard line. 

“Hold ’em!” Bill Barrett rasped. “Only two min¬ 
utes more, men!” 

On the first rush, the visiting team worked a triple 
pass which was good for twenty yards. They lined 
up again near the center of the field; and Joe Kra- 
sowski, crouching low, found himself wondering 
vaguely how many more hours the game was going 
to continue. 

Since he had recovered the fumble for Hillsdale 

247 



JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


following the first touchdown, Joe had been in a semi¬ 
stupor, able to go through the motions of playing 
but realizing only vaguely what was happening upon 
the field. His head ached dully and his mind refused 
to function properly. The minutes stretched out end¬ 
lessly; the cheering from the stands sounded as if 
from a great distance, and even Joe’s fellow players 
were only vaguely familiar. 

“I’d like to stop,” he told himself, “but I can’t do 
that. Now, if the game would only-” 

Suddenly, in the midst of the lethargy which 
gripped him, he saw a man dashing toward him. It 
was a Winston player, he knew, and instinctively he 
braced himself for the contact. Leaping forward, he 
tackled low and hard. Curiously, the ball bounded 
to one side, and bounced along ludicrously. Joe, 
reaching for it, found it unexpectedly in his arms. 
He whirled once or twice dizzily, glimpsed two white 
goal posts looming against the blue of the sky, and 
made for them with all the power of his weary limbs. 

He noted subconsciously that he was free, that no 
one was within fifteen yards of him. But he knew, 
too, that in his present weariness he could not run 
very fast, and that at any moment pursuit might over¬ 
take him. Grimly, with parted lips, he sprinted for 
the beckoning goal. 

Footsteps sounded behind him, and he turned his 
throbbing head to find a Winston player running be¬ 
side him. He braced himself for the tackle, but the 

248 



JOE’S TO-MORROW 


other boy made no effort to stop him. Puzzled, Joe 
Continued his dash, fighting down the nausea which 
threatened to overcome him. He could not under¬ 
stand why the Winston man did not make his tackle, 
and he shook his head helplessly in a futile attempt 
to solve the problem. 

On the ten-yard line he staggered, recovered him¬ 
self and fought his way forward. And then, unex¬ 
pectedly, a figure hurtled itself at him, dragging him 
to the ground five yards from the goal. He waited a 
moment with his eyes closed, stunned by the force 
of the tackle; and when he opened them again, the 
grim face of Ward Jackson loomed above him. 

A wave of uncontrollable anger engulfed him then, 
clearing his mind. 

“What’s the big idea?” he snapped. 

But he knew, even as he spoke. Ward, who had 
already debarred his brother Jed from the team, was 
now robbing him of the honor of making a touchdown 
in the big game with Winston. 

But Ward, curiously, only grinned into Joe’s glow¬ 
ing eyes. 

“You poor boob!” he muttered huskily. “You 
were running toward the wrong goal!" 

“Gee!” Joe said. 

And then darkness enveloped him. 

They told him all about it later in the dressing 
room, after his mind had cleared and he had been 

stripped of his mud-soaked uniform. 

249 


JACKSON OF HILLSDALE HIGH 


“If you had made it,” the Coach explained, “the 
Winston player who was running alongside of you 
would have tackled you behind the goal line, and 
that would have been a safety, with two points more 
for them. But it wouldn’t have made any difference, 
of course, for the game was already won.” 

“Not to the team maybe.” Joe spoke slowly. “But 
if I had finished that run and had made a score for 
Winston, I’d have been the laughing stock of the 
whole town. It would have been the biggest joke of 
the season.” 

“But you were dazed, of course, after that knock 
on your head.” 

“Perhaps,” Joe admitted, “but people wouldn’t 
have remembered that.” Llis eyes searched the circle 
of boys around him until they discovered Ward Jack- 
son. “It was you,” he said huskily, “who kept me 
from making a fool of myself.” 

“Any of the other fellows would have done the 
same thing,” Ward answered. “I just happened to 
be nearby, and-” 

“And you did it, just the same,” Joe broke in, 
“even though you knew that I’d been laying for you 
all season and had promised to get back at you.” As 
Ward attempted to interrupt, Joe held up his hand. 
“I’m not much on this thank-you stuff,” he continued, 
“but I know a big thing when I see it, and that’s what 
you did to-day. You showed me up for the rotter 
that I am.” 


250 



JOE’S TO-MORROW 


“No,” Ward said, “you’re not a rotter, Joe—just 
a fine football player and a real man. How about 
shaking on it?” 

Their grips met, while the others looked on in 
silence. And as they stood there in the center of their 
smiling team mates, Ward’s glance wandered over to 
the mottoes on the wall. It rested finally on the one 
for which he was seeking: 

“Here at Hillsdale, we judge a man’s to-morrow 
by his to-day, but never his to-day by his yesterday.” 

Turning, Ward grinned happily. Joe’s to-morrow, 
he knew, was safe because of the one significant inci¬ 
dent which had marked his to-day. 

“If you haven’t anything else to do,” Ward said, 
“I’d like to have you come home to dinner with me.” 

“Sure!” Joe answered. 

From the direction of the field drifted the sound 
of joyous singing. 

“Listen!” Bill Barrett said. 

With shining eyes, they waited until the last note 
had died away. 


(l) 


THE END 








\ 























ooo£^ 








































































































